


The Long Road Home

by jkateel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alpha Castiel, Alpha Castiel/Omega Dean Winchester, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Angst, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide attempt, M/M, Omega Dean, Rating will change, Romance, Slow Burn, Torture, Violence, such slow burn omg
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-15
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-08-09 00:37:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 38,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7780123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jkateel/pseuds/jkateel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a post-apocalypse world, and Dean's an omega who makes every effort to hide his designation. Since omegas are thought to be ruled by hormones and heats, and male omegas can neither carry or create children, Dean's faces being dismissed, ignored or worse if he's outed. So when he and his security team are hired to deliver a shipment to New California, his client, Naomi, is none-the-wiser about what he is.  </p><p>There's only one problem: He has to take along Naomi's bodyguard, an alpha named Castiel... the first alpha Dean's ever been attracted to. And with Castiel being the most unalpha alpha that Dean's ever met, he's got a lot of soul-searching to do to decide how he feels about him. </p><p>What Dean doesn't know is that Castiel has a troubled past, and that he's keeping some dark secrets. </p><p>Secrets that will put them all in terrible danger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Supernatural © Eric Kripke
> 
> This story was heavily inspired by sharkfish's story, ["the mania of owning,"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4893013/chapters/11221249) and Margret Atwood's _Oryx and Crake._ There are lot of elements from the Fallout series here, as well, because I love those games. 
> 
> Please reference the tags for content warnings and possible triggers.

Dean’s seen it all: Werewolves, vampires, Croats, even those monstrosities they call _Leviathan_. That’s par for the course, given his job.

If he had to choose, though, he would say there’s one thing worse than all of those combined.

 _Alphas_.

And it’s just Dean’s dumb luck when he nearly runs into one just as he’s coming out of the Roadhouse's public showers and heading for his office.

At first, he doesn't even realize there's an alpha around; a scent in the air that smells really _good_ capturing his attention and he follows it almost without thinking. _What is that?_ he finds himself wondering, and he’s so focused on it that he almost doesn’t spot the alpha until it’s too late. Surprise stops him dead in his tracks when he does though, his heart pounding wildly when he realizes how exposed he is.

The man _—_ brown hair that's almost black, blue eyes, leather armor on a body that is distinctly _alpha_ _—_ glances toward him, no doubt drawn to the scent Dean usually so carefully keeps hidden. He never makes eye contact, however, as Dean curses and bolts.

 _An alpha,_ he thinks as he runs for the safety of his office. _What the fuck is a new alpha doing here?!_

* * *

 

It’s not that all alphas are _bad_. Dean considers two of them, Benny and Victor, his closest friends, and he trusts them with his life. Sure, it took a _long time_ for them to get to that point, but they don't hold it against him. They get it: Dean, as an omega, has a good reason to be biased against alphas.

Some might argue that Dean really shouldn’t have that bias; that none of them can be blamed for what’s apparently an unfortunate side effect of the post-nuclear-apocalypse world they live in. Just listen to the stories, they’ll say, still passed down generation to generation from their great, great grandparents who were there when everything went down. Not only were they the ones who had to survive in a world gone mad post bomb drop, but they were also the first to undergo the _change._ They were the ones who were still human when virus that Lucifer Fos created to alter human reproduction started altering them. What the virus had been promised to do never actually happened; instead, it turned them into something none of them were expecting.

They expected their biology to be changed, yes, but very specific changes. Fos’s virus was supposed to make it so women would be fertile twice a year, which they would realize when they went into heat. That was when men were supposed to become sexually aroused, and they got knots to help give them a better chance of fertilizing eggs. The rest of the time, everyone would have next to zero interest in sex, and therefore live in relative peace.

And that makes sense, considering what the world was like _before_. Dean’s been lucky enough to see preserved newspapers and the headlines they sprouted across the front page: Overpopulation. Climate change. Low resources. Politicians declaring everything that was happening as God’s punishment for their sins. _War._ How the virus was supposed to help with all that, Dean doesn’t actually know, only that it was created, and the most of the population was inoculated with it. It might have even worked too... If the world hadn’t decided to erupt into nuclear war not long after.

As it turned out, radiation plus virus plus two million years of evolution didn’t mesh well. Who knew?

Which wasn't to say that the virus didn’t work. For those not close to a bomb going off, for the most part, the virus did what it was supposed to do, with some hiccups along the way. It created the betas, with their mellow sex drives and women going into heat every few years. Not exactly something needed in a world with a sudden need for new human life, but, in Dean's opinion, the betas are the lucky ones.

It was those that were close to that bombs that were changed dramatically. It made the alphas, ramping up their sex drives and making their tendency for testosterone-fueled violence that much more volatile. It also made the omegas, with the whole heat thing going haywire in the process. Instead of making them go twice a year like it was meant to, omegas ended going into heat _every_ month, and it was barely controllable to boot. (And jumping over to the male sex is something no one can explain.)

Of course, all this seemed to happen while half the world was on fire and new humanity went to war over the few remaining resources leftover in the post-apocalypse world. From the stories told, it was a real _bad_ time to be an omega. It was a great time to be an alpha, if the whole 'raping and pillaging' to the nth degree was something someone was into. Betas had their hands full dealing with them on top of just trying to survive.

Luckily, that’s mostly settled down now, though the struggle to survive isn’t any easier. Which is where Dean finds himself: Living a life where every few weeks, he gets to lose his goddamn mind as his body _demands_ to make the babies he can’t even have. He also gets to produce that lovely wetness and scent that drives alphas, and only alphas, to track him down like a bloodhound on a scent, foaming at the mouth.

Because alphas aren’t attracted to a beta’s heat, no. It’s just the lucky omegas who get to deal with that. Some of them even get to have alphas following them around for weeks, just _waiting_ for their heat to start, getting in a few fucks in for fun in the meantime.

So Dean’s a little biased against alphas he doesn’t know. Bite him.

It’s not like he doesn’t have the right to be.

* * *

 

For her part, Ellen is apologetic.

“Dean, I had no idea you were back,” she says when he confronts her in her office, the older beta standing in front of her desk that's piled with paperwork. Her office is in the back of the fort’s watering hole, the Roadhouse, and on his way there, Dean had kept an eye out for the foreign alpha.

He didn't get the alpha's scent so he won't recognize him if he got too close. Dean has to hope the alpha doesn't track him down either, and he's taken every precaution he knows. He doused himself in a mix of baking soda, and then rubbed himself in dirt and pine bough, which is a great way to neutralize his scent, but it does leaves him feeling like he didn’t even take a shower. Fresh off a heat, Dean wanted to feel _clean_ , thank you very much.

Damn alphas.

“They arrived this morning with one of the trade caravans,” Ellen continues. “Naomi, the woman that was with him; she asked for a tour. The alpha is her bodyguard.”

Dean frowns. So it _isn’t_ a new alpha that wants to move into the fort, and who Ellen hadn’t let Dean screen first. The alpha is with the woman who Dean also noticed coming out of the showers, with her bright auburn hair and wearing an old pre-apocalypse suit of all things. Not the most practical thing to wear anywhere in this part of the country, which makes Dean think she isn’t from around here. That’d explain the bodyguard _—_ and even if Dean doesn’t like it, he has to admit alphas are decent in the whole protection field.

“Let me guess,” he says gruffly. “She wants to hire me.”

Ellen nods. The Roadhouse Fort is many things: A bar, a trading post, and home to the largest private military company this side of the Rockies, _Winchester & Singer's_. They offer protection for most of the neighboring towns and farms, plus serve as guards and guides for the caravans that travel all over the former U.S. of A. Most can’t make such trips without some sort of security: Not with the groups of blood-sucking, meat- and/or brain-eating subhumans that the apocalypse also decided to barf up wandering the landscape. Oh, and the wandering packs of alpha raiders who like to target the caravans — can't forget about them.

Right now, Bobby is off leading a group of caravans to the eastern territories, so that leaves Dean as the man-in-charge. It’s a position he fell into when his dad died; not something he particularly wanted, but someone had to be the Winchester in _Winchester & Singer's_. He’s the one who will have to meet with this Naomi, go over the job details, negotiate the price, and sign the contracts. All while a foreign alpha is there, _watching_ him.

Joy.

Though Ellen’s next words make Dean momentarily forget his annoyance, his anger, his general hygiene, and pretty much everything else.

“She has a shipment she needs to get to New California.”

Dean's heart jumps in his chest.

 _New California,_ he thinks. _Sammy_.

It's almost hard to believe it's been five years since he's last seen Sammy. It was a month or so after Dad died and he came to pay his respects, and he had to leave almost as quickly to get back to New California and the work he was doing there. And what a job he had, helping New California’s small but growing government reach new heights and build up to recreate a world where people could _thrive_ , not just survive. And Dean knew, if anyone could accomplish that, it was Sammy. As much as it hurt to watch his little brother leave, knowing he couldn't protect him anymore, Dean also knew one thing: Sammy could create a better world. Just like their dad did. Just like their mom envisioned.

Now with Naomi and her shipment, Dean has a chance to go visit him. He can go see where his little brother is in his dream, and what his life is like in California that the occasional letter can't quite capture. (Last Dean's heard, Sam had started working for a high-level official: A senator or something like that.) All Dean has to do is put up with a foreign alpha for a round of negotiations.

He can do that _easily._

Despite his sudden eagerness, Dean forces himself to keep his overall grumpy attitude. He has a reputation to maintain, after all. “Let’s get this over with then,” he grunts at Ellen. “Bring them to my office.”

Ellen gives him a knowing look that says she isn't fooled, but she nods. She reaches over to squeeze his shoulder with a smile, and Dean almost manages not to grin back. Almost.

He leaves her office, going out the back door and into the main area of the fort. The sun is out, light bright and harsh against the snow-covered peaks of the Rockies towering above them. Trees with their glowing needles, fifty-foot corn stalks and wheat patches sway in the wind, their size and bioluminescence a side effect of the massive radiation cloud that had once covered the Midwest. Surprisingly, the rich farmland soil and forest came back after the cloud drifted away, making it possible to settle in the area and start growing food again. Most of the former U.S. of A. wasn’t that lucky — the east is still a barren wasteland of broken cities and dead trees, and the less said about the southwest, the better.

As Dean passes the barracks and the crowded central marketplace, his mind is going a mile a minute, deciding how he wants this to go down. With Bobby still out, Dean is supposed to stay on the compound to handle any business coming in, not go _lead_ any missions. But the old man will understand this kind of opportunity, Dean’s sure of it. It’s for a chance to see Sammy, after all.

Charlie can handle things while Dean is out, he decides. Now he has to get this job, and that means taking some precautions to ensure he does, namely hiding the fact that he’s an omega from the alpha bodyguard of this Naomi. If he picks up even a whiff that Naomi is meeting with an omega to discuss business, that could derail the entire meeting and Dean isn’t going to have that. He ain’t losing business because people believe male omegas are just one big alpha distraction, or always a heartbeat away from going into heat, dammit. Not only does Dean knows his cycle by heart, and it’s not his goddamn fault that some alphas don’t know how to control themselves.

Still, Dean doesn’t want to be in a position where he has to prove his father and uncle’s operation runs just fine, even with an omega as a co-boss.

So he’ll just do what he always does: He’ll block his scent. And for that, he needs his friends.

Dean searches for Victor and Benny, poking his head in the guard quarters. He knows they have just gotten off their morning patrols in the nearby town of Yellow Stone, and he spots them in the locker rooms, stripping off their armor and putting their weapons away. They _smell_ too, pungent and filling the entire room, which is exactly what Dean needs. No one will be able to smell him under all that _alphaness._

“Hey,” he barks, and Benny and Victor look over at him. “We have a client. I need you in my office ASAP.”

Benny and Victor exchange a glance, but they know the drill when it comes to Dean and clients. “Right behind you, brother,” Benny says as he pulls on his favorite hat, while Victor sighs dramatically.

“There goes my shower."

Dean rolls his eyes, and when they join his side, they head over to his office. His heart starts pounding the closer they get, Dean trying to fight the grin that wants to grow on his face. With Victor and Benny around, there’s no way this _Naomi_ will decide to not to use their services, not when she won’t be able to tell he’s an omega. And then he’ll be off to California, off to see Sammy and—

That thought gets cut off mid-way, just as Dean turns to the corner of the armory and runs straight into the foreign alpha. _Hard_.

He doesn’t even know that’s what happened at first, stumbling back and rapidly blinking, dazed. And then the most delicious scent fills his nose, the one from earlier, the one he had followed without thought. And now it's here, in all of its glory, and it's coming from one source.

The alpha.

The scent and his own surprise is probably what makes him not be immediately repulsed and pull away. Instead, when a hand grabs his arm to steady him, he looks up at the alpha and being so close, Dean can’t help but drink in him with his all of his senses. His scent, his touch: the sure grip of his arm; the muscles his leather armor isn’t hiding where Dean's hand is splayed against his chest. His looks too: Dark hair, his strong jaw lined with stubble, blue eyes that remind Dean of the sapphires he found once in the ruins of a pre-apocalypse apartment building.

And it's right there, that Dean has a thought he's never had before.

This alpha... He's _attractive._

Part of Dean — his omega brain, as he calls it — notices that the feeling might be mutual. He watches as the alpha’s nostrils flare as he takes in a deep breath, and his pupils grow larger while looking over his face. He steps closer, something Dean has absolutely no problem with, his eyes falling to the alpha’s lips as his own part—

“Castiel?”

“Dean?”

That’s Benny’s voice, sounding unsure. It’s also a woman’s voice, one Dean doesn’t recognize. The alpha turns away to look back, as Dean glances over his shoulder to a confused-looking Benny and Victor. Unsure of why, Dean turns back to the alpha, where he then notices the woman from earlier, Naomi, standing next to Ellen. Ellen is giving him a look that says _what the fuck?_ and Dean blinks, confused.

Then it hits him with all the force of running into the alpha again.

 _Holy shit_. He had just basically drooled over an alpha. He thought an alpha was _attractive_. Had smelled _good_.

_What the fuck?!_

“Castiel, I believe the man has found his footing. You can let go of him now,” Naomi chides, and the alpha — _Castiel_ — turns back at Dean. Those blue eyes meet his own again, and his grip on Dean tightens slightly. Dean stiffens again, realizing that the alpha _knows_. Running into him, standing close to him, there’s no way Dean can hide his scent. The alpha _knows_ he’s an omega.

Dean braces himself for the crude words, the jibes, the posturing, the _what is a sweet omega like yourself doing all the way out here_? Or worse, Castiel attacking Benny and Victor, thinking them challengers over his prize. Dean won’t let that happen — he’ll knock the alpha out first — but it’ll really make it impossible to hide what he is to Naomi then. And there would go his job, and Dean will have to live with humiliating shame of being _attracted_ to a stupid knothead alpha, when he swore he would never give one the time of day—

To Dean’s utter surprise, none of that happens.

No jeers. No fights. No acknowledgment of his status. No questions about being a male omega or even a _wow, that's really rare, isn't it?_

Nothing.

The alpha sucks in a deep breath before he pulls back, and lets go of Dean’s arm. He nods his head once, his eyes averting as he says in a voice like gravel, “Apologies.”

And that’s it. Utterly confused, Dean can only watch as he turns to go back to Naomi’s side. He briefly acknowledges Naomi’s _you need to watch where you are going_ with another apology, before his eyes settle on the concrete walls that line the fort. He scans the buildings and grounds, and Dean can see the tension in his shoulders and in the stiffness of his body. He doesn’t look at Dean again though, where any other alpha wouldn't be able to do anything _but_ stare.

 _What the fuck,_ Dean thinks again.

“Well, you've just met the co-owner of _Winchester & Singer's_, Dean Winchester,” Ellen jokes to Naomi, even though she’s sharing Dean’s confused look. She shakes her head, and then looks back at him. “Do you want to take over from here, Dean?”

“Sure,” Dean says automatically, and manages to look away from the alpha to the woman. There has been no change in her expression; no inkling that she knows what he is, or what she just witnessed. He swallows, and then gestures them forward. “Right… Right this way, ma'am.”

Naomi nods and steps into line, and Victor and Benny move to cover Dean again after glancing over at Castiel with confused looks. Dean doesn’t blame them as he too glances back at the alpha following in his boss's footsteps, Castiel still not looking toward him. And that has Dean thinking another thought he’s never had before.

_Who the fuck is this new alpha?_


	2. Chapter 2

_Know your enemy,_ Dad used to tell Dean all the time. That was when he still took Dean out on missions and hunts; was still keen on having his firstborn follow in his footsteps. Back when Dean only knew alphas as the fierce warriors and protectors, the ones that formed the core of _Winchester & Singer's, _who made it their goal to rid the Midwest of its monster problem. Without them, it wouldn't have been possible to resettle, let alone for the Roadhouse and the nearby town of Haven to prosper like it has.

It was also long before Dean had first felt wetness traveling down his thighs, and was consumed by a fire of _breedbreedbreed._ Back when everyone expected Dean to become an alpha, just like his daddy, the great John Henry Winchester.

It was before Dean first saw the disappointment in his father's eyes that never really went away.

On those trips, Dad taught him how to track monsters by footprints and the faint scent trails they left behind; taught him to think like monsters did to take advantage of their weaknesses. Thanks to Dad, Dean knows that Croats, despite how fast they can be, don’t stand a chance against a well-placed bullet to the brain. Werewolves can be drawn the smell of a fresh kill, and all you have to do is set traps around the lure and let them walk right into it. Vampires are the trickiest to track down and kill _—_ but if you can find their nest during the day, all you have to do is block the entrances and set it on fire. 

(Leviathans though? Running was the only option there. How radiation had turned former humans into damn near immortal monsters with giant teeth-filled mouths, Dean had no fucking clue.) 

All those skills made Dean an expert tracker and damn-good marksman by the time he was a teen — and, despite his relationship with his late father, Dean is still grateful to his old man for all the lessons he taught him. All that knowledge really came in handy when Dean suddenly had a new monster to deal with after puberty shoved him into an adulthood he was not ready for _at all_.

Before then — before his first heat — Dean had actually _liked_ alphas. There were alphas like his dad and Bobby, committed to helping the less fortunate and giving humanity a fighting chance in the Brave New World. Other alphas were boisterous, loud, the life of a party — the ones Dean secretly liked best, because they treated him like a member of their pack. Mostly that meant taking him out for joyrides when they found enough gas to power the jeeps, or slipping him cups of moonshine at the Roadhouse bar. They would tell him all about what it was like to be an alpha, how amazing knots were and how there _nothing_ quite like shoving one into a warm, wet omega cunt.

There were also lessons on how to best woo an omega … A female omega, anyway. After the dark times, people realized how precious female omegas were, as they are the only ones who can get pregnant with any regular frequency. An entire town would protect them fiercely for that reason, and that meant no alpha could even get near them. Not without first earning the trust of the town, and a lot of wooing and courting on their part in hopes a female omega would give them the time of day.

Male omegas, unfortunately, aren’t treated the same. When you can’t create or carry children, there really isn’t much use for you ... except as an alpha knot toy.

He’s learned his enemy, though, just as he was taught. He’s learned to mask his scent, and to avoid alphas he doesn’t know; even avoid alphas he _does_ know. He keeps obsessive track of his heat cycle so he’s never in a situation where his body won’t let him say no, and the alphas who seek that out can't find him. He’s learned to ignore the flirting, the posturing, the ‘ _don’t you want a fat knot inside you_ ’ and ‘ _such a pretty little bitch_.’ He’s learned to tell the exact moment when an alpha realizes their advances aren’t wanted, and either decides to back off or get _angry_.

Dean’s met both types — Victor and Benny fall into the ‘back off’ category for one — and only those two types. Alphas are pretty predictable like that, and Dean’s learned to find some measure of comfort in it. He knows his enemy well.

Well, until now.

Until Castiel.

Castiel, who isn’t acting how alphas normally do, and Dean has no idea what to make of it.

He’s already off-kilter for finding an alpha attractive in the first place, but with Castiel being so unalpha-like, it’s setting Dean’s teeth on edge. That’s probably why he can’t stop glancing over at the Castiel, who still hasn’t looked at him since they literally ran into each other outside.

Now he’s standing by Dean’s office window, his back to the rest of them as he scans the grounds outside like he expects bad guys to attack at any point. It’s actually a surprise he’s doing that, too; Dean doesn’t know many alphas who don’t have a problem turning their backs on alphas they don’t know. And that’s Benny and Victor, who are standing in opposite corners at the other end of the office, their backs to wall. They’re under the vents, which ensures their scents waft out and covers Dean’s, keeping Naomi in the dark about what he is. And in theory, it should be putting Castiel on the defensive as well — foreign alpha smells and what not. Except it’s not.

Dean supposes Castiel’s being a good bodyguard, since he’s not getting distracted by the omega in the room or being instinctively defensive around the other alphas who are currently glaring holes into the back of his head. (Because Benny and Victor are reacting like they’re expected to.) Dean just wishes it was reassuring, rather than paranoia-inducing, which is what’s happening.

Not to say he isn’t usually paranoid around alphas he doesn’t know. Okay, maybe more _hyper aware_ , because again, alphas are kind of predictable so he knows what to expect from them. Castiel though — he ain’t being predictable. The not-looking thing alone so fucking weird, because Dean’s used to having an alpha’s eyes never leave him once they get a whiff of him. But no, Castiel isn’t doing that, and it’s a sad day when _that_ is what makes Dean uncomfortable.

All of it makes Dean wonder if this is some sort of trick. A prank? A game? As much as he wants to believe that, wow, he’s finally met a decent alpha who actually backs off the moment he’s uncomfortable and doesn’t stare him down, he just _can’t_. He’s never that lucky.

Maybe Castiel is waiting until Dean lets his guard down before he starts acting like a knothead douchebag. Maybe he’s just waiting for his moment to pounce and take, such as when the two other alphas in the room aren’t around. But what alpha has that kind of self-control or patience? Dean wonders. _Especially_ around an omega who expressed interest in them? None that he’s ever met.

Yet, again, here Castiel is.

 _Jesus,_ Dean thinks, not for the first time. _Who the fuck is this alpha?_

Part of him wants to obsess over this; figure out his enemy, like his dad always taught him. That kind of involves pulling a gun on Castiel and demanding to know what he’s playing at — which Dean realizes might not go over so well (but he isn’t sure if he really cares). Yet, it’s that urge that leaves the other part of Dean unsettled and frustrated with himself. He’s spent half his life not letting alphas get under his skin, yet this one is doing it so damn _easily_. Bad enough that Dean still finds him attractive, but why is he letting this alpha affect him like this?

(And there’s another part of him, Dean’s omega brain, that _wants_. Wants Castiel to look at him with that hunger in his eyes again; wants him to posture and flirt and fight off the other alphas and prove he’s good enough to sire those kids Dean can’t even have. And yet … The alpha is ignoring him. And it kind of hurts — and makes Dean’s omega fret about what could be wrong with him. Is it because he’s male? His smell is sour? That it’s obvious he’s a broken toy tossed aside one too many times? What?)

(Fuck, this is a joke, Dean thinks. A cosmic one.)

Mostly, this is all just pissing Dean off and, worse, it’s threatening to distract him from what really matters: His potential client. The cargo she wants delivered to California. The chance to see Sam. Dean can’t let this opportunity pass, his paranoia be damned. Sure, his skin is crawling with nerves, and he still kind of wants to pull that gun on Castiel (or if his omega brain had its way, he’d be fucking _submitting_ ) _,_ but he’s going to buck up and _deal._

Thankfully, the one person that matters in the room, Naomi, hasn’t seemed to notice Dean’s internal crisis. Mostly because he can run on autopilot and still provide the gold-star service that makes _Winchester & Singer’s_ stand out from all other security groups in the area. And thank fuck for that; he doesn’t need Naomi to go to another group, telling them all about the distracted omega she met with. If people learned there was a male omega helping run _Winchester & Singer’s_, they’d probably lose business left and right...

So he goes through his usual routine, showing her to the seat in front of his desk, before offering fresh, hot coffee from the pot set up on the table adjacent his desk. It’s a luxury to do that — most people come from places where they don’t have enough electricity to waste on a pre-apocalypse coffee pot. Pair that with impressive array of standard and laser rifles in the cabinet behind his desk, and the shelf filled with the awards and trophies his father and Bobby have received over the years from grateful townsfolk, it all adds to the overall image Dean wants to present about the company. That _Winchester & Singer’s _is the most advanced, the best of the best, and here’s the proof.

Naomi, however, doesn’t seem too impressed with the guns or trophies or the coffee pot. Instead, she looks up at him from where she’s sitting in his memory-foam-cushioned chair, her steely blue eyes regarding him without a hint of emotion. She declines the coffee and then says, “No need for pleasantries, Mr. Winchester. If you don’t mind, I would like to get straight to business.”

That snaps Dean out of autopilot mode, and he’s pretty sure he blinks stupidly at her for a moment, too. It’s just such a surprise: Only once in his entire time working has he had a client refuse coffee, and that was because he had wanted a cold beer instead. (Another luxury, by the way. Can’t get cold beer just anywhere.)

And to skip the pleasantries? That’s Dean’s specialty: He learned the value of them after he read a book on marketing and sales he found in what remained of the public library in Denver. It builds rapport for one, and makes meetings feel less like a business transaction. And Dean honestly wants to get to know his clients, both on a professional and personal level. It makes him a better at his job, he finds, knowing what’s at stake when people come to him. And Dean likes helping people in the small ways too. Being able to offer hot coffee to someone who, say, has their town being terrorized by werewolves, so they can briefly have some luxury in their life… Dean knows how much that can mean to someone.

But, much like her alpha bodyguard (still standing at the office window, ignoring them), Naomi’s just throwing a wrench into things. _Must be a special talent of theirs,_ he thinks, before he recovers and manages to put on his most charming smile.

“Of course, Ms. Naomi. Down to business it is,” he says as he moves to take a seat at his desk. His eyes briefly meet Victor and Benny’s as he does, and they both shoot him an _I can’t believe she refused the coffee_ look. Dean gives them a tiny shrug in response, and then turns back to Naomi. “So you want something delivered to California, I hear?”

Naomi doesn’t react to his charm, only nods briskly. She crosses her leg at the knee, and drapes her arms against her thighs; with her suit and pose, she reminds Dean of those pictures of the _high-powered businesswoman_ he’s seen in old magazines. “I was told your organization provides expedited shipping services,” she says, and Dean bobs his head in a nod. “How long would it take to have a package delivered to the Sacramento capitol?”

Dean’s heart lifts. _Sacramento_. Sacramento is where Sam is. This is _perfect._ “About thirty to fifty days, depending on the weather and the size of your shipment,” he replies eagerly, maybe a little too quickly, but he can’t help it. “Maybe a bit longer when we hit California too. The Republic has started requiring all goods coming in go through their customs checkpoints. What do you want shipped?”

Naomi doesn’t answer that question. Instead, her expression shifts from cool to unimpressed, and she sniffs. “Thirty to fifty days,” she repeats, which makes Dean frown, confused. “That long?”

Dean leans back, surprised; behind him, Victor and Benny audibly shift too. He knows what they’re both thinking: Thirty to fifty days is _fast_. Far faster than the caravans, which can take almost three months to make the same journey since they stop at every trading post on the way there. What kind of time frame is Naomi expecting? And why is she being so rude about it? Dean thinks with a flash of irritation. No need for that.

Part of him wants to reply back in a less-than-polite tone, but Dean quickly reminds himself why he’s doing this: For Sam. And, he thinks, Naomi isn’t from around here, so maybe she just doesn’t know the distance from here to New California. Doesn’t explain the rudeness, but it explains something.

“Well, it’s a 900-mile trip, ma’am, on foot, but we average around 45 days,” he offers, but Naomi’s expression doesn’t change. A thought occurs to Dean then, and he frowns thoughtfully. Maybe Naomi has talked to someone else about this? “If anyone has told you it’s shorter than that, ma’am, believe me, they’re scamming you. Anything less than a month is physically impossible without vehicles, and no one has the gas or electricity for that trip, believe me.”

He half-expects her to argue the point, but Naomi simply narrows her eyes again. And then, to Dean’s confusion, she looks back toward Castiel.

Though the alpha has been gazing out the window the entire time, somehow he knows she’s looking at him, and he turns as well to meet her gaze. Dean tenses instinctively, on high alert for anything the alpha might do — but he just ends up frowning again when Castiel simply nods once, which makes Naomi tut. She turns back just as quickly as she turned away, while Castiel returns to looking out the window. Dean carefully schools his expression, though nothing can stop his eyebrows from lifting when Naomi says, “And cargo security? What do you provide?”

Wait, wait, wait. Weren’t they just discussing the time frame of the trip? And now they’re not? Dean wants to glance back at Victor and Benny to make sure he didn’t miss something, but he can’t. (He can almost see them exchanging glances though, because they must be having the same reaction.) Man, Naomi is really throwing him off his game, and Dean struggles to recover. “Well,” he begins slowly _,_ “We can have up to four guards—”

“Four?” Naomi interrupts. “That’s hardly enough.”

This time, Victor and Benny both make sounds — Victor letting out the quietest _what the fuck_ — and Dean can’t blame them. Because there’s trying to get to California under thirty days, and then there’s trying to have an entire company _murdered_.

“It actually is, ma’am,” Dean starts, struggling to keep his tone polite. Her rudeness is getting to him though. “Anything higher would attract unwanted attention. If raiders spot us on the trip with more than four guards, they’re more likely to attack us.”

Naomi is clearly not convinced by that argument, judging by the eyebrow that she lifts up. “My cargo is of high value, Mr. Winchester,” she shoots back, tone dismissive. “And it needs to have the security numbers to reflect that. No less than fifteen guards is unacceptable.”

Dean balks at that. Jesus _, fifteen guards_? Every raider group from here to New California would be all over them. “Ma’am, I understand your concerns about your cargo, but—”

— _you’re an idiot_. And okay, no, he can’t say that, that’s mean. Shit, though, if this wasn’t for Sam, Dean probably _would_ say it, and that’s never happened with a potential client before. “But the supplies and oxen we’d have to bring for that journey to feed that many personnel — that alone would bring raiders down on our heads. Not to mention your cargo, which would be an added incentive to attack, too—”

“So you are saying you can’t handle a group of disorganized, lawless brutes?” Naomi interjects, before she gives Dean an unimpressed once-over with her eyes. “And yet you claim your organization is the best of the best? Hardly seems like it.”

Dean’s left flabbergasted; not to mention, _insulted_. Because there is ignorance, but then there’s _ignorance_. The alpha raiders might be lawless, maybe disorganized, but they’re still incredibly fucking dangerous, and to think of them anything but is how you find yourself tortured, or worse. And when you got a two dozen alpha raiders in armor they’ve built out of barb wire, metal and Kevlar, hurling grenades and raining bullets, and there’s always that one with a fucking flamethrower… Well, point is, Dean ain’t doing that. He ain’t ensuring that happens with fifteen fucking guards.

And how can Naomi fight him on this? Sure, Dean’s read how the customer is always right, but he’s pretty sure the customer isn’t supposed to get them _killed_. And shouldn’t she be deferring to him? She isn’t from around here; she doesn’t know the area like he does, let alone its dangers. And it’s not like _Winchester & Singer’s_ reputation doesn’t speak for itself; the reason people come to them? It’s because they know what the fuck they’re _doing_.

(Honestly, if he wasn’t absolutely positive Naomi didn’t know his status, Dean would say she’s treating him like a ‘stupid omega’ right now — the one who doesn’t know what they’re talking about and needs to be put in their place. And oh, how Dean wants to say something like that, if it wouldn’t completely give himself away...)

Really the whole thing is making Dean wonder if he should even try convincing Naomi that she’s wrong, or just give up. As much as he’d put up with for a chance to see Sam — and really that was only supposed to be the unalpha alpha Castiel — he ain’t risking his team’s lives for someone who’s setting them up for failure. And wow, no one’s ever turned down a job before in the history of this company, not once in the thirty years Dean’s been helping out anyway. Today’s just a day of firsts, isn’t it? First time being attracted to an alpha; first time sending a potential client packing…

Still, it isn’t an easy decision to make, and Dean’s heart sinks at the thought. He so badly wanted to see Sam...

“Ma’am?”

Dean, who was just about to tell Naomi that he can’t help her, pauses the sound of that gravelly voice. He tenses instinctively, even as his omega brain perks up (because wow, that _voice_ ), before he joins Naomi in looking over at Castiel. The alpha has finally turned to face them, and he stands at parade-rest, eyes on Naomi as he waits for her to acknowledge him. When she does with a nod, he speaks. “Ma’am, perhaps it would be wise to explain the nature of our cargo to Mr. Winchester, so he better understands your concerns about its security.”

Dean frowns. Aside from it being really weird to hear an alpha call him _Mr. Winchester_ , he wonders what Castiel means by that. Naomi never did say what the cargo is, apart from it being valuable — is whatever it is the reason she’s making such crazy demands? What inspires that though?

Curious, Dean looks to Naomi, but it appears he’ll have to wait for the answer. The beta lifts an eyebrow at the alpha and asks, “And what is your reasoning for that suggestion, Castiel?”

“Mr. Winchester has been forthright about the travel time of this trip and the dangers it poses, without making any lavish promises, unlike the other groups we’ve spoken to,” Castiel replies, and oh, Dean was right; they had met with others. And _lavish promises_? Jesus, what had his competitors promised they do? Castiel goes on. “ _Winchester & Singer’s _reputation as an honest and trustworthy organization is also undisputed by the locals in the area. In short, ma’am, I believe we can trust him.”

Dean stiffens. Wait, wait, wait, hold the pre-apocalypse phone. Did he just hear that right? No one just _trusts_ omegas — everyone believes they’re not dependable because of hormones and heats. It’s why Dean has to hide what he is from most people, and why he’s spent most of his life proving he can be trusted by those who do know what he is. Yet Castiel trusts him, just like that?

No, no, this can’t be right. Why would Castiel just _trust_ Dean — that makes no sense. Is this some sort of trick again? A game? Is this some strange new alpha way of trying to get into his pants, by flattering him instead of jumping him? Except _that_ doesn’t make sense — that’s mindfuckery to the next level, and what alpha _does_ that? Even the most unalpha alpha can’t be capable of that, right?

So what’s the alternative? That Castiel _does_ mean what he says? That this isn’t some game or trick? That Castiel backed off when Dean got uncomfortable when they had bumped into each other, and the whole not-looking thing was the alpha actually _respecting_ him? That’s Dean actually met a decent alpha?

 _Jesus_ , Dean thinks again, torn between confusion and discomfort and fear and just plain wonder. _Who the fuck is this alpha?_

Almost as if he hears the question, Castiel’s eyes shift and meet his.

Dean’s heart thumps _hard_ in his chest. He can’t help it, sucking in a surprised breath as he looks into blue eyes and starts to drown. While his paranoia and suspicions are still there, lurking, waiting, his omega brain is _thrilled_ that he’s finally being acknowledged. And maybe Dean gives into that side of him a little, because he’s met the most unalpha alpha ever, who apparently trusts him and maybe even respects him. And as Dean drowns in blue, he remembers how Castiel smells, and takes him in again. Fuck, the man has gorgeous eyes. Gorgeous everything, really. Gorgeous hair, gorgeous smell, gorgeous shoulders (perfect for throwing legs over, actually), gorgeous body, gorgeous personality—

Such thoughts only lead to one thing, and Dean snaps out of his haze the moment he feels _it._ The telltale wetness making itself known, sliding its way down to let the entire world know what he’s feeling. And _son of a bitch,_ no, no, no, no, Dean _cannot_ get slick, not in front of three alphas and a beta who isn’t supposed to know what he is. _Son of a bitch, son of a bitch,_ how could he get slick over an _alpha_ , _what the fuck is wrong with him_ —

“It’s medicine.”

Dean freezes, before his eyes shoot to Naomi’s. Slick, alphas, even Naomi’s ridiculous demands are forgotten as what she said goes through his brain twice. Did she just say… “Medicine?”

“Medicine,” Naomi repeats with a nod. She sits forward in her seat then, and lifts her head slightly as she regards Dean with a look in her eyes that reveal nothing. “Specifically a compound, which works to cure the effects of radiation on humans. It was created by the scientists at the old Cornell University, whom I represent, at the request of the California New Republic. They have requested samples be sent to the newly rebuilt Stanford university so they can replicate it in their labs and produce it on a massive scale.”

Dean feels his mouth fall open, because _holy shit._  Did she say she had medicine that could cure the effects of radiation on humans? As in radiation poisoning?He’s still not sure if he heard that right (and does she mean Cornell in New York? That place still exists?), and he glances back at Victor and Benny to see if he’s the only one. Judging by the looks on their faces, he’s not; they’ve started to drift closer to Dean’s side even, drawn in by Naomi’s words.

And Dean can’t blame them: Everyone’s seen how radiation poisoning hurts people, from babies born with deformities to kids sick for life if they accidentally drink contaminated water. Dean knows of places that on occasion get hit by massive radiation storms, and whole towns can die off in a matter of weeks. There’s never ever been a way to cure affected people… Until now? _H_ _oly shit._

Fuck, now Dean gets it. Gets why Naomi was demanding what she was demanding. He would want to protect that shit with everything’s he got to make sure it reaches its destination no matter the cost, and as quickly as possible. Except, something occurs to Dean with that thought, and he quickly frowns at Naomi.

“And you want _us_ to deliver it?” he asks, dumbfounded. “ _Why?”_

Naomi’s nose wrinkles, like she’s asking herself the exact same thing. She looks away from him, and judging by the sudden tension in her shoulders, she doesn’t like admitting it. “The Republic’s request has reached the attention of… less-than-savory individuals,” she says, before looking back at Dean. “As you can imagine, in these individuals’ hands, they could ransom them off to the Republic. They’ve already made two attempts to steal our first set of shipments, and we're only lucky that the samples were destroyed in the process. But we cannot afford to lose another one. Which is why we’re trying a new approach; hiring organizations like yourself to deliver the samples under the guise of an ordinary shipment.”

 _Wow,_ Dean thinks. That’s smart. And the plan must have worked, because they made it this far without being attacked, right? And that they’re entrusting _Winchester & Singer’s _with this information means they’ll be the ones to take it the rest of the way. What an _honor_.

Dean glances over at Castiel at the thought, feeling his heart thump again. It’s thanks to him that he has this opportunity, because he trusted Dean...

“Wait,” Victor asks then, and Dean looks up at him. His eyebrows are scrunched up thoughtfully, and he shakes his head at Naomi. “Why do you have to send samples? Can’t you just send the Republic the formula for them to replicate it?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean notices that Castiel, who had been watching Naomi, looking away then. Dean frowns, curious why, but he turns back when Naomi replies. “The researchers at Stanford have been having difficulty creating the compound in their own labs. With the samples in hand, they’ll have models to which they can perfect their own, and then they can move straight onto mass production.”

Victor’s brows furrow even more, but he says nothing else. Naomi looks back at Dean. “So now you understand my predicament, and my concerns about security,” she says, and Dean starts, before he nods. “The samples _must_ be delivered. We cannot afford any more delays, or risk another shipment being destroyed, or worse, falling into the hands of criminals.”

Her eyes narrow then, and her voice grows dark. “Humanity’s fate rests on this.”

Dean nods vigorously in agreement, because yeah, it does, it really does. Except… Naomi’s requests are still a big problem. They're things Dean can’t give her. Sure, alpha raiders won’t know what they’ve stumbled across if they do seize the shipment, but the result is the same: The shipment doesn’t make it to California, and it’s probably destroyed because the raiders will trash it in their ignorance. But if he tells that to Naomi, she isn’t going to be happy.

Dean weighs his options, trying to think of a middle ground for both of them. “It’s not ideal, but we could add another two guards,” he suggests, looking at Victor and Benny for confirmation. Victor winces, Benny makes a face, but they both end up nodding.

Dean nods back at them, which is when he comes up with another idea, and turns back to Naomi. “Dogs, too," he tells her. "We got a couple shepherds that are the equivalent of four guards. And with dogs, it might convince the raiders we’re out on a monster hunt instead of delivering something. Raiders will usually leave us alone if we’re on a hunt — they don’t like dealing with monsters themselves.”

The only problem is that the shepherds aren’t typically taken out on hunts — that’s the foxhounds. But Dean honestly doesn’t think the raiders will know the difference. The only problem is Rufus, who raises the dogs — he won’t exactly be keen on lending the shepherds out, since they help with fort patrol. But Dean’s pretty sure he can talk Rufus into it… Well, after he _borrows_ a couple bottles Johnny Walker Blue from Bobby’s secret stash. (And oh man, Bobby’s probably going to send him off to the Denver ruins to find some bottles to replace it, but Dean will cross that bridge when he comes to it.)

Naomi lifts an eyebrow at the proposal, and Dean can tell she’s mulling it over when she looks back at Castiel again. The alpha meets her gaze, and he nods after a moment. “That sounds acceptable, ma’am,” he says quietly. “Mr. Winchester has come up with a good compromise, in my opinion.”

Dean’s heart lifts. Okay, he’s starting to like this alpha now... apart from physical attraction too. If Dean wasn’t about to take off on nearly three-month-long journey, he thinks it’d be nice to get to know Castiel, this strange unalpha alpha. And while Dean’s not sure if he could ever be with an alpha, who knows, maybe they could be friends...

“Then I only have one more requirement,” Naomi says then, interrupting Dean mid-thought. He frowns at her, confused, before his stomach drops like a rock when she says, “Castiel will serve as part of your security detail.”

“W-What?” Dean say stupidly, right as Castiel stiffens visibly, eyes growing wide.

“Ma’am?” he croaks, clearly shocked.

Meanwhile, Dean’s starting to freak out. No, no, no, no, _no,_ Castiel is not coming with them, _no fucking way,_ that cannot _happen_. “M-Ms. Naomi, that’s quite a request,” he begins diplomatically, trying to contain his panic so she doesn’t notice. He senses Benny and Victor have noticed; he can feel them staring at him. “I-I don’t typically take on personnel I don’t know—”

“Castiel is highly trained soldier,” Naomi says, cutting him off again. Dean’s starting to hate how good she is at doing that. “He served as a commander with the Blue Angel Steel Battalion in the Capitol Wastes, and has served as security and recon for Cornell for the past several years.”

Normally, Dean would be impressed by that resume, because he’s heard of the Blue Angels. They’re a paramilitary group that beat back mercenary groups and slavers terrorizing the Capitol Wastes, allowing people to recover and start to rebuild. So for Castiel to be part of that, it’s amazing, and Dean would hire him if Castiel applied for a position with _Winchester & Singer’s_. But that isn’t going to change his mind about Castiel coming on this trip, because it is _not_ happening.

He just wishes he could tell Naomi ‘no way in hell,’ except he can’t, not without giving something away. “That’s impressive, ma’am,” he tries again, “but—”

“He also knows the protocol to destroy the compound to keep it out of enemy hands,” Naomi interrupts again before she levels him with a look. “This is non-negotiable, Mr. Winchester.”

 _Son of a bitch,_ Dean thinks, and swallows around the lump in his throat. He glances at Castiel who, with his wide eyes and the slight part of his lips, looks like he’s sharing in Dean’s panic. Dean doesn’t know why the alpha doesn’t want to go, but he’s glad that he isn’t the only one who doesn’t like this idea. Jesus, fuck, Dean thinks, this is not happening, is it? Jesus fuck, this _is_ happening, isn’t it?

“Ma’am?” Castiel asks then, through gritted teeth. “A word, please?”

Dean seizes that opportunity, because he needs to get out, _now_. “I’ll give you two a moment,” he croaks out before Naomi can reply to Castiel, and then Dean practically runs out the room. Okay, it’s more of a brisk walk, but still, he gets the hell out, cursing mentally the entire way. _Son of a bitch, son of a bitch._

“Dean!” That’s Benny hissing at him, as both he and Victor follow him out and into Bobby’s office. Normally the scent of his uncle’s things calms Dean, but it isn’t going to work this time. At least they have privacy, and when he turns to face his friends, they both flinch at whatever look is on his face. “Dean, what the fuck is wrong?” Benny hisses again.

Normally, Dean would never bring this up with his two alpha friends, but they have to _know_. “I was planning on leading this trip, so I can go see Sam,” he blurts out, and both Victor and Benny exchange confused glances, not understanding. Dean rolls his eyes. “Guys, this is nearly a month-and-a-half journey there, with an alpha I don’t know!”

Victor’s brow furrows, clearly still not getting it. “But Dean, you deal with alphas you don’t know all the time—” he starts, before Dean quickly cuts him off.

“Not when I’m in heat!” he snaps under his breath. “And I’ll go into heat on this journey! With an alpha I don’t know right there!”

Victor and Benny’s faces go blank, because one, they never discuss heats, and two, clearly they hadn’t thought of that. Which, of course they wouldn’t, Dean thinks, they’re alphas, they don’t have to worry about shit like that. But Dean does, it’s his curse, and he really fucking hates it right now. Because it’s going to force him to make a choice he doesn’t really want to make; shouldn’t be forced to make either.

He wants to see his little brother so bad it physically hurts... but is he willing to risk having Castiel around when he goes into heat?

“We’ll protect you, Dean. We won’t let him get near you,” Benny offers and at that, Dean stiffens. He suddenly can’t look at his friends, and he turns away, looking at the Bobby’s walls lined with bookless bookshelves and that ridiculous wallpaper he found in a ruined store on a scouting mission. Its familiarity offers no comfort, though, nor does it do anything to stop Dean’s next wave of panic.

Because part of him says _no_ , no fucking way does he want Castiel around while he’s in heat.

But the other part?

The other part that got wet just looking at Castiel? That _wants_ so very badly?

That part says _yes, fuck yes._

And it’s utterly terrifying.

 _Son of a bitch,_ Dean thinks again. _Son of a bitch._

What is he going to do?


	3. Chapter 3

In the end, Dean decides he has to go on this trip.

The cargo is far too important — it’ll help _so_ many people — and Dean, in good conscience, can’t leave a task like that to anyone else. He’s the best tracker and marksman on the team, and since he’s been to New California several times, he knows the terrain and the dangers it contains better than anyone short of Bobby or his dad. And he just can’t pass up on the opportunity to see Sam. He misses his little brother way too much.

So he’ll go into heat mid-trip — so what? If he ends up jumping Castiel, well, okay then, that will be that. As long as they get that medicine out to New California, who cares in the long run? Hell, it might even be enjoyable, since Dean kinda-sorta already wants the unalpha alpha, which is already ten times better than all those times he was in heat around alphas he _didn’t_ want. If anything, this is a chance to prove himself: Dean’s spent half his life trying to prove his biology doesn’t control him, and now he’ll really be put to test, won’t he.

(If only that thought didn’t leave Dean feeling nauseated. Just imagining himself mid-heat, sweating and dripping slick and struggling not to beg to be fucked and knotted and bred and _loved_ … God, he hates being that out-of-control.)

 _You can do this, Winchester,_ he tells himself, and then takes in a couple deep breaths. It calms him a little, enough that he can slip his salesman persona mask back into place and make the return trip to his office. Victor and Benny give him concerned looks as he heads out Bobby’s door, but Dean ignores them, keeping his head high. He can do this, he chants to himself. He can do this. He can do this.

It’s perfect timing too, as Castiel and Naomi appear to have finished up their talk. Naomi is standing beside the chair now, and Castiel is back at the window, staring out it again. All appears normal... until Dean really looks at Castiel, and he ends up hesitating instinctively. It’s subtle, and it’s only from a lot of experience that Dean can tell what it is, even though it’s missing the usual alpha-related snarls and pacing around a room like a werewolf caught in cage.

Castiel is _angry_.

It’s how he’s standing completely straight with his rigid shoulders and set jaw, his hands gripping his arms from where they lay resting against his back. It’s controlled anger, but anger none-the-less, and it leaves Dean wondering what the cause is. Well, aside from the obvious fact that Castiel hadn’t expected he’d be going on this trip. Maybe he was looking forward to going home, or since he’s Naomi’s bodyguard, he doesn’t like the thought of leaving her side when he’s supposed to protect her. It could be any number of reasons, but Dean wonders if it’s a very specific one, one that Naomi unknowingly did to Castiel without realizing it.

She put Castiel in a subservient role to an omega.

Dean winces. Shit. Yeah, that would do it. No matter how confusingly nice an alpha is, that’s not something anyone is going to take kindly to. Female omegas are walking baby factories, and male omegas are just hormonal messes — no one entrusts them with command. Even Victor and Benny, his _best friends_ , struggled with that in the beginning; it took them years to get over instinctively ignoring Dean whenever he gave them an order. Dean couldn’t rely on them on missions for a long time because of it, and that was only one the tiniest of hurdles they had to overcome. To trust them to keep their heads if he was in _heat_ around them? That hadn’t been pretty; Bobby had to intervene during those times with fists and kicks and even teeth once.

Knowing Dean’s luck, that’s Castiel’s problem. Not being homesick or worried about his boss — it’s the omega whose orders he’ll have to follow. Dean supposes he’s only lucky that, as far as he can tell, Castiel didn’t out him to Naomi when they talked. She isn’t looking at Dean in disgust or horror anyway. One good thing, right?

(That’s what Dean keeps trying tell himself anyway, because his stupid omega brain is in panic mode again. It hates that the alpha wasn’t immediately thrilled to go with him — that he resisted and now he’s angry. That means there’s something wrong with Dean, isn’t there, because what omega has so much _trouble_ attracting an alpha’s attention? It’s because he’s male, isn’t it? Has to be. He’s male, and therefore _useless_.)

But whatever Castiel’s problem is, now’s not the time to deal with it. Dean has other important matters to attend to, namely the deal he’s got to close. So without further hesitation, he strides over to Naomi and holds his hand out to her.

“I’ve accepted the terms of your proposal, ma’am,” he says, forcing a charming smile. “ _Winchester & Singer’s_ is at your service. We’ll get your cargo to New California, come hell or high water. I guarantee it.”

Naomi’s eyes his hand for a moment, before she lifts her own to clasp Dean’s. “I am pleased to hear that, Mr. Winchester,” she replies, and her lips quirk toward a smile. “You are doing humanity a great service; one for the history books.”

It’s an odd phrase — who even makes books anymore? — but it makes Dean’s heart lift. Not because he wants to be in any book — but because this is for humanity. Something his dad fought and died for; something his mom believed in; why his brother set off to New California. It’s about time Dean joined them, right?

 _For humanity_ , he thinks.

It’s a pleasant thought, but it’s fades when out of the corner of his eye, Dean notices Castiel look over at them. However, when he glances at him, Castiel’s eyes slide away, back toward his window and the world outside.

Dean doesn’t fail to notice his hands though: They’re clenched around his wrists so tightly now that it makes the rigid, unusual-looking scars lining the underside of his exposed arm turn white.

Dean’s never seen scars like those before.

* * *

One brief negotiation over price and a signed contract later, it’s done. Dean gets a temporary alpha employee by the name of Castiel Novak, former Blue Angels commander and now ex-bodyguard, along with a trip to New California to plan. He can’t complain about the six thousand aluminum chips he’s get in payment at least, which will pay for this trip and then some. It’s a good payday for _Winchester & Singer’s _in the end — a job well done on Dean’s part.

With their business concluded, Dean leaves Castiel in his office with Benny and Victor to escort Naomi over to Charlie’s desk. Charlie will handle payment transfers, arrange for the cargo to be moved to their storage vault, and get Naomi an escort home. And she’s all smiles as she greets Dean and Naomi, eagerly showing Naomi to a seat in front of her desk, which, while neatly organized, has every spare inch covered in computer parts and smudged, cracked but beloved pre-apocalypse cartoon figurines. As Naomi takes a seat, Dean tries not to snort when he sees her nose wrinkle in clear disgust, her eyes train on the little brown-haired figurine in front of her that Charlie affectionately named ‘H.’ (That’s the only letter that remains of the name that’s printed at its base — who she’s based off of, they’ll never know.)

With Charlie taking care of Naomi, Dean knows it’s time to face the music and address his new temp. He sucks in a few deep breaths again to psych himself up, and then slowly makes his way back to his office. As he goes, he gives himself a pep talk he hasn’t given himself in years, but seems more poignant than ever.

He’s the boss, he reminds himself. The leader. His father’s son. Still a omega, but one that will demand respect even if he has to beat it out of his subordinates. And he is especially _not_ a confused, hormone-driven idiot of an omega pining over an alpha who may or may not be attracted to him… and who might be pissed because he’s in a subservient role to him. No, Dean doesn’t deal with that bullshit; he _breaks_ alphas who do not fall in line, and he will break Castiel too if he has to.

That thought settles on him like his dad’s old jacket, and reinvigorated, he strides back into his office. All charms and smiles are gone now; he is ready to kick ass if needed.

He passes Benny on his way in, the alpha standing beside the door, whistling to himself as he twirls a knife in his hand. Victor is on the opposite wall, leaning against it with folded arms, dark eyes on Castiel’s back. Their positions relative to Castiel is deliberate — the exit is guarded, preventing him from leaving; there’s an alpha at his back who can attack him before he can react. It’s all alpha posturing to put him on the defensive, and Dean knows it’s only the beginning. Even if it’s temporary, Castiel is a member of the team now, and Benny, Victor and all the alphas at _Winchester & Singer’s_ are going to establish where he stands in their pecking order through intimidation and brawls.

It’s hard to tell if Castiel is on the defensive about that though, or if his rigid back and shoulders are because he’s still pissed about being forced to go on this trip. It seems the latter when Dean enters the room, and the tension in Castiel’s posture grows as his eyes shift to meet his. And when he sees Castiel’s reaction, it confirms his initial thought: The problem is related to him.

He regards Castiel coldly, and then points toward the chair in front of his desk. “Sit,” he orders.

Such a command should make Castiel bristle or glare or do anything but as he was told... yet the alpha doesn’t do any of that. He simply glances at the chair, and then, without another moment of hesitation, he heads over, the leather of his armor creaking as he sits.

It’s Dean who ends up hesitating, confusion making his mask slip. Castiel had obeyed, just like that? No fight, no posturing, no nothing? Isn’t he angry though? (Is he reading this alpha wrong again?) Unless he’s only obeying because there are two other alphas in the room that would _make_ him sit if he didn’t do it himself. That has to be it, Dean thinks.

Right?

 _Dammit_ , Dean curses. It’s so fucking annoying that this alpha keeps throwing him off like this; that he’s constantly making him question himself. He’s letting Castiel get to him again, and when as he _ever_ let an alpha do that? No, this ends now — no more getting tripped up over this damn alpha. He’s the boss. The leader. His _father’s_ son. He needs to act like it, dammit.

Anger snaps him back into his boss mindset, and Dean strides over to his desk. He doesn’t sit; instead, he places his hands flat on the desk and leans in so he looms over Castiel. It means the alpha is forced to look up at him, and Castiel does, his eyes slowly lifting to meet his. Dean levels him with an icy glare, and though Castiel’s expression remains neutral, he’s thrilled when he sees the alpha’s throat bob with a swallow. That _has_ to be fear, which _good_. Dean wants to be feared.

“So,” he says coldly, channeling his dad’s voice. “Do we have a problem.”

Castiel blinks once, before his brows crinkle and he cocks his head slightly. “Problem?” he repeats quietly.

Again, not quite the reaction Dean’s expecting, but no, no, he’s not questioning himself anymore. “You know what I am,” he says slowly, and from the doorway and wall, Victor and Benny’s heads jerk up to look at him in clear surprise. Dean ignores them, focusing on Castiel’s every minute facial expression, which is mostly him swallowing again and his eyes flickering over him once more. Dean presses on. “You are now under my commander, and I saw how pissed you were about it. So. I repeat. Do we have a problem?”

At ‘ _I saw how pissed you were,’_ Castiel had frowned, before he started shaking his head. “No, no, that wasn’t — it was not,” he starts, before he sits forward in his chair, brow furrowing up further. “No, it wasn’t because of you, Mr. Winchester. I have no issues following your orders...”

Dean narrows his eyes, his first thought being _bullshit_. He’s about to say that out loud when Castiel glances away from him then, his shoulders falling in a slump. Dean hesitates again, and then lifts an eyebrow when Castiel says gruffly, “My apologies. I did not mean to give off that impression. I _was_ angry, but it was because…”

He trails off slightly, and Dean watches his lips turn downwards; his eyes grow half-lidded. He suddenly looks so _tired,_ and Dean doesn’t know what to make of it. “I was not meant to be assigned to this trip,” he murmurs. “My employment with Ms. Naomi was to be terminated once we arranged transportation for the shipment. I’d had planned to stay in the midwest territories for a time, and see what opportunities were available.”

Wait, _what?_ Dean slides out of boss mode as he leans back, frowning. “She was going to _fire_ you?” he asks, confused.

Castiel lets out a sound that, though hoarse, could be a laugh. He glances back up at Dean, with lips quirked slightly toward a smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “No,” he says, shaking his head. “She was to finally accept my resignation, which I put in before we left Cornell. Once we had reached here, it was to go into effect. Another member of our security detail — my coworker, Ion — was to take over my position and travel to New California with you.”

Both of Dean’s eyebrows raise high. Castiel had put in his resignation _before_ he left Cornell? That means he had spent three months and two thousand miles waiting to quit… Only now he’s forced to tack on another month-and-a-half and nine hundred miles. _Jesus_ , Dean thinks. If Castiel is telling the truth, well… Dean be pissed too if that happened to him.

Victor voices Dean’s very next thought. “She forced you to stay in her employment?” he asks as he rises up from the wall, all alpha posturing forgotten. Benny’s the same way, sliding his knife back into his belt as his face scrunches up in clear sympathy. “What the fuck?”

Castiel shifts in his seat to look back at Victor, shaking his head slightly. “It’s alright,” he reassures, and his lips twitch toward a smile again. “With all the dangers this trip poses, it makes sense for her to have me stay on. Ion would have been a good asset, but he doesn’t have the same level of experience dealing with raiders and monsters as I do. And as pleasing as the thought of finding a place in the western territories was...”

He trails off once more. Dean watches as Castiel’s eyes slide down again, and one of his hands slowly curls into a fist in his lap. “With how important the cargo is, it would have been selfish of me to abandon my duties now,” he murmurs. “My plans can wait.”

Dean cringes at that, and then has to look away. _Son of a bitch_ , he thinks. He gets that. He understands that _completely._ That’s the same reason he’s going on this trip, isn’t he? Putting his biology before the mission… That’s _selfish_. And he can’t be selfish, not at a time like this. Though his sacrifice is hardly nothing compared to Castiel’s, is it? The poor bastard walked all this way planning for one thing, and what happened instead? He’s choosing to walk a whole lot more, on a journey that could get him _killed_ , and Dean was planning on giving him shit for it.

Fuck, he’s self-centered, isn’t he? He had assumed Castiel was mad at _him,_ when none of this was even about him! Dean let his paranoia and instinct get the better of him, which since when does he let that happen? And yeah, sure, he’s got some really good reasons to not like alphas, but Castiel has done nothing to earn his ire. He’s just been this weird unalpha alpha, but more importantly, he’s been _nice._ Respectful. And Dean’s just been a dick to him. Jesus, what does that say about him as a leader? As a _person_?

Son of a bitch, if Castiel _is_ attracted to him, he’s going to not be soon enough. Hell, Dean’s going to be lucky if the guy even wants to be his friend. Though maybe that would be better for everyone — he’s got fucking _issues_...

Dean’s heart sinks at that thought. Fuck, his issues. They could fill up every page of his dad’s journal, but Dean likes to think they don’t get the better of him. Clearly, that’s not the case though — but that’s one of the other not-so-fun perks of being an omega, right? Alphas and omegas might both be ruled by emotions and hormones, but alphas tend to not get hung up on shit.

Case in point, Benny and Victor, who should be furious that Castiel didn’t respond to all that alpha posturing of theirs, are clearly not. He’s earned their sympathy, and they’re obviously impressed by Castiel’s decision. “That’s real noble of you, brother,” Benny tells Castiel, while across from him, Victor nods.

“Far more noble than any of us would have been, believe me,” he adds.

Castiel’s expression grows thoughtful, and then shakes his head again. “That isn’t true,” he says, and his eyes shift back to Dean. “Since I arrived here, everyone has spoken highly of your organization — about all the work you’ve done in making this area flourish and helping people rebuild. That is noble. More noble than anything else I’ve seen in a long time.”

Dean frowns. He isn’t going to dispute that — it’s pretty much fact that the midwest wouldn’t exist without all the work his dad and Bobby did. But Castiel isn’t giving himself much credit, is he? “Well, you were with the Blue Angels,” he shoots back. “You’re the reason the East Coast got back on its feet.”

“It was a shithole before. Couldn’t get a single caravan out that way for decades,” Victor adds, but Castiel only shakes his head again.

“That was under orders, and our role was limited simply to military support, not reconstruction efforts,” he retorts, but Dean doesn’t see the difference. Looking between him, Victor and Benny, Castiel goes on, and the words that fall out of his mouth make Dean realize that alpha has either been doing some extensive research, or the townspeople talk them up more than he ever realized. “Your organization was the work of individuals coming together with a vision. You put focus into security _and_ rebuilding, and not just in this area. You reestablished communication between the coasts by reconnecting the old telegraph lines. You reopened trade routes to South America and Canada, something no one been able to do in one hundred years. And what you did for your people with so little...”

He looks back at Dean then, and there’s something in his blue eyes that’s hard to read. It’s almost like… wonder. It makes Dean’s heart thump in his chest again. “ _You_ helped build a power grid. Even New California is struggling to do that with success, and they have a vast number of resources on hand.”

Dean’s cheeks flush. Holy shit, who told Castiel about _that_? It’s not exactly common knowledge that he, along with Charlie and Ash, came together to attempt to recreate a power grid based on some old schematics they found in a partially burnt book. This was in his teens, when Dean spent his days tinkering with rusted-out cars and pre-apocalypse electronics, and scoured for any material on electrical engineering he could find while out on missions. Before Dad had pulled him more into doing more back-end business stuff, like manning the telegraph lines and arranging team assignments — and long before Dad died, and Dean suddenly found himself co-owner of such a massive operation — engineering had been something Dean had been interested in exploring more. And in all honestly, it’s something Dean is _still_ interested in but, especially after Dad died, he’s been needed here.

Shit, though, how does Castiel _know_ that? Most people attribute the power grid to _Winchester & Singer’s_ itself, not Dean specifically. And the way Castiel is looking at him for that? With this expression of awe and amazement? It’s doing strange things to Dean’s insides, and he has to look away again, cheeks growing hotter.

“Wow, you’ve done your research,” Victor says, impressed. Dean glances back as Castiel lets out another sound that could be a laugh, turning to look at Victor again.

“It was imperative that I vetted the right organization to entrust with the cargo,” he explains, and then his lips slide into a real smile as he glances back at Dean. “And I must admit, I was also seeking places of possible employment, too. Though _Winchester & Singer’s_ has been on top of my list for some time: I heard tales about your reputation as an honest and trustworthy organization from as far out as Chicago. You are known for helping people, which is what I want to do. If I hadn’t been assigned to this mission, I imagine I would have applied to work here.”

Dean shifts uncomfortably. Castiel ending up in their employment, even as a temp, is actually kind of funny, but man. All this praise is getting to him; Dean’s just not used to it. And yeah, he knows the reputation _Winchester & Singer’s_ has — he takes a lot of pride in his dad and Bobby’s work. But the way Castiel is talking about it, looking at him like he is, it’s like he’s attributing it to _Dean_. And well, he’s wrong, and Dean should correct him… But he also feels like preening and strutting around proudly. His omega brain is soaking up the compliments like a sponge, pleased again by the alpha’s attention.

It’s a very confusing mix of feelings.

Strange though. Why does Castiel want to leave Cornell? Not that what _Winchester & Singer’s_ does isn’t important, but Cornell’s off making world-changing medicine apparently. They’re helping way more people than Dean ever could…

Dean glances over when Victor lets out a snort. “Heh, careful what you wish for, Novak,” he jokes with a shit-eating grin, and Castiel looks back at him. “Dean’s a hard-ass of a boss. More vicious than any alpha you’ll ever meet, and grumpier than one too.”

Dean narrows his eyes in a glare at Victor, who just turns that grin to him and winks. Dean almost rolls his eyes, but he pauses when Castiel turns to look at him again. “I have no issue with that,” he murmurs, the smile on his lips reaching his eyes now. Dean swallows, his insides squirming again — he’s never heard an alpha say _that_. Or the next thing he says. “It will be a pleasure to serve under you, Mr. Winchester.”

And maybe because Dean’s omega brain is _happyhappyhappy_ , that when he hears that, his mind goes straight to the gutter. It’s just one hell of a mental image though: Castiel on his knees, _serving_ Dean, putting those lips of his to work. (And Dean finds himself looking at said lips, while licking his own.) Dean’s had his share of blow jobs from betas and even a few omegas, all which were very good, but there’s just something about the thought of an _alpha_ doing it. Submitting to _him_ , pleasuring _him,_ looking up at him with intense blue eyes filled with wonder and awe for _him_.

Oh, and that delicious smell of his, wafting up at Dean too. (Which he can almost smell now, come to think of it.) And though Dean can’t see any alpha ever doing that, right now, while he’s staring at Castiel and Castiel is staring right back, he can see the alpha doing it. Happily too. Maybe even going further too, turning Dean around and using his tongue to chase his slick up to its source, sliding his tongue right in...

Just the thought of that makes Dean’s body grow hot, his dick twitching. It isn’t the only thing reacting: He can feel the telltale wetness gearing up from inside him, ready to make its way down. And he doesn’t seem to be the only one reacting, either: Dean watches Castiel’s nostrils flare, and he looks up at him with hooded eyes, black nearly taking over his blue irises, before—

— before Dean realizes what’s happening. What he’s _doing_.

Which, shit, shit, shit, _shit._ Dean slams the door shut on those thoughts, cheeks flaring. If he wasn’t bright red before, he probably is now, because he did it _again_. He got lost in fucking blue eyes and let his imagination get away from him, and then almost got wet. What is _wrong_ with him; _he can’t let that happen_. He has to fix this, play it _cool_ —

“Y-Yes. Well. Um. Yeah,” he starts, which as _cool_ goes, he might as well have tripped over his own feet in front of a crowd of onlookers. Fuck this is embarrassing… Though it gets even more embarrassing when he looks up, and notices Benny is staring right at him, with the most confused look on his face. He glances from Dean down to the back of Castiel’s head, and then right back up, his eyes narrow suspiciously. Which _shit shit shit_ again, the last thing Dean needs is for his friends to realize that he’s attracted to Castiel. He’s not ready for that _at all_.

Shit. He’s gotta get away from Castiel; end this so he can go crawl in a hole somewhere and not come out for a long, long while. Also he’s gotta keep Benny from asking questions Dean doesn’t want to answer yet (or ever), not without some time to compose himself so he can _deny, deny, deny_. Oh, and shut his omega brain up, because it’s _pissed_ at the obvious change in plans— and really, it’s fucking weird having those two opposing feelings at once. It makes Dean twitchy, torn between fleeing again or jumping Castiel’s bones.

Dean manages to refrain from doing both, and forces himself to look at Castiel. Well. Castiel’s shoulder, at the very least. “You should get yourself situated,” he tells him gruffly, and he sounds like he choked on something. Benny’s also lifting a skeptical eyebrow at him, which isn’t helping. “F-Find out where everything is. Put in any supply or equipment requests you need for the trip. Victor and Benny — they’ll show you around.”

Castiel blinks once, twice, his smile starting to fade and his brow slowly dragging together. He looks dazed and confused, but he does glance over when Victor speaks. “We sure can. Come on, Novak, let’s get you settled in and we’ll introduce you to the main team here.”

“Alright,” Castiel murmurs, sounding confused, his gaze drawn back at Dean. Dean swallows and tenses up, feeling sweat slide down his neck like the slick that wants to slide down his thighs. He fusses with the papers on his desk just to give him something to do, all the while watching through his eyelashes the way Castiel blinks again, still lost, and then squints at him. It’d be a kind of cute look if Dean wasn’t two steps away from full-panic mode, but it does seem to refocus him. Dean sees his eyes grow wide then, before he quickly looks away, hand coming up to rub at his neck. “Yes. Right. Good,” he mutters, but who he’s talking to, who even knows.

He gets up from his chair then, and Dean tries not to cringe or flinch, or do anything else embarrassing. Like give into his omega brain, for example, which is demanding he order Castiel sit his ass back down and yell at Benny and Victor to get out. That urge is quelled a little when he notices that Castiel looks tense too; when he glances up, he confirms it, with Castiel’s rigid shoulders and clenched fists. But he’s not angry this time, Dean can tell; he actually looks _nervous,_ the way he’s pursing his lips and how his throat bobs with another swallow. Despite that, though, he does glance toward Dean, or his chest at least, and says gruffly, “Thank you, Mr. Winchester.”

“You’re welcome,” Dean mutters back without thinking, growing confused as he watches Castiel turn to join the others. He has a brief moment to wonder _why_ Castiel is nervous, but that thought is quickly forgotten when he notices Benny is looking at him again. Benny lifts a knowing eyebrow at him — a silent _Don’t think I didn’t notice that_ — and Dean blushes again. Thankfully, he doesn’t say anything; just follows Castiel and Victor out the door, closing it behind him.

The moment they leave, the puppet strings holding Dean up give out completely, and he collapses into his desk chair. “Son of a bitch,” he mutters as he slouches forward, face planting into his desk. What the fuck, what the fuck, what the _fuck_.

What is _wrong_ with him? Why is he letting this happen? It’s bad enough he’s dealing with the fact that he’s attracted to an alpha, but nearly getting wet _twice_ , all within an hour? _Fuck_. Jesus, he can only thank his lucky stars that it was just Benny and Victor in the room, and not someone else who doesn’t know he’s an omega. That’s how rumors start, and rumors are how _Winchester & Singer’s_ starts losing business left and right, because no one trusts an omega...

And fuck, why would they? Dean’s spent the past five years telling himself he’s a leader, a boss, his father’s son, _not_ a hormone-driven omega. But Castiel is proving that all wrong, and that’s probably making his dad roll around in his grave… which wow, that’s a depressing thought. Fuck.

Dean groans, bumping his forehead on the desk again. This is only the beginning too: He’s still got to go on a nine-hundred mile journey with Castiel and, in three weeks time, he’ll be in heat. And if this is how he reacts just by Castiel’s poor choice of words and his smell and the way he looks at him with that awe and wonder—

Dean is _so_ fucking screwed. (And fuck, he’s going to get screwed judging by Castiel’s reaction to him, and Dean’s still not exactly comfortable with that thought…)

At least there’s one consolation: The cargo. How important it is; how it keeps this trip from becoming a complete nightmare. Dean clings to that, like a shipwrecked sailor would cling to a barrel in the middle of the ocean. Well, that’s at least what the books describe it anyway; the feeling seems the same in either case.

 _For humanity,_ he starts to think over and over. _For humanity, for humanity, for humanity_ —


	4. Chapter 4

Dean doesn’t see much of Castiel over the next few days.

It’s not like he’s _purposely_ going out of his way to avoid the alpha (well, maybe just a _little_ ); he just has a lot to do before they start their journey to New California. Normally, he gives himself three weeks to prep for a trip of this scale, but with the importance of their cargo — and his heat due in twenty-five days or so — he’s cut that down to a week and a half so they get on the road as soon as possible. That means all of Dean’s focus has to be on ensuring _Winchester & Singer’s_ runs smoothly since he’ll be gone for close to four months.

Not to say _Winchester & Singer’s_ doesn’t run like a well-oiled machine already, thank you for very much. But Dean’s also pretty hands-on, and any machine will stutter and collapse if it goes four months without maintenance. While Bobby will be back in two weeks time (Dean got a telegram from him saying just that a day or so ago), and can handle the day-to-day operations pretty damn well, he usually only does it when Dean has to take a week off to go sweat out a heat. Otherwise, Bobby just doesn’t have the time, since he’s often has to go investigate some monster sighting, or is needed in town, where he serves on the council board. So the more Dean can ensure Bobby doesn’t have to worry about the day-to-day, the more Bobby can focus on more important things.

That means Dean’s basically in meetings all day. He spends an afternoon with Charlie delegating who’s going to handle what while he’s gone; he spends another morning reviewing the finances with Ms. Tran, making sure they’re in the black while he’s out. The next morning is spent with Elizabeth, head chef and Benny’s adopted daughter, arranging the next few months of food shipments for the _Winchester & Singer’s _cafeteria. The evening is spent with Chuck, to figure out what goods and supplies from New California they should bring back... though that turns into him having to reassure Chuck over and over that yes, _yes_ , if he finds toilet paper, he’ll buy every pack he can get his hands on.

So Dean’s been busy, and he’s only seen Castiel once or twice since their meeting in his office. The alpha has been helping Victor and Benny, who are both in charge of the trip preparations, in getting together the supplies and gear they’ll need. Dean’s spotted Castiel hauling water jugs and food barrels over to where they keep the wagons; also when he went into town with Victor and Benny to purchase gas for the motorbikes. Dean doesn’t see them again until much later, when they’re all out in the fields near the fort, teaching Castiel how to ride one of the motorbikes. Since they use the bikes to round up the oxen in the morning, it’s imperative everyone knows how to work them. Castiel seems to pick it up pretty quickly, too, judging by how he was flying off hills and nailing the landing about a half-hour in.

(Speaking of oxen: Dean spent another day in town to meet with the caravan leaders so he could rent out a team of the animals, per their arrangement. The caravan leaders don’t like that _Winchester & Singer’s_ offers private shipping services, but ages ago, Dean offered to pay handsomely to use their oxens on trips. They liked that deal, which is good, considering _Winchester & Singer’s _gets a lot of business providing security for them. It also means he never had to look into raising their own cattle, because Dean did the math once and it wasn’t pretty.)

That’s pretty much it for Castiel sightings. And that’s good. What Dean was hoping for. While he isn’t going to any great lengths to avoid the alpha, he’s testing out a theory and distancing himself is key. He’s convinced that maybe his attraction to Castiel was some weird fluke, a lingering side effect from his heat. He _had_ just ended one when he had first run into Castiel, and in the process of his hormones leveling off, weird shit tends to happen. Sometimes, all Dean wants to do is eat, like his body is fueling up for the baby it so desperately wants. Other times, Dean’s sleepy or snippy or needs to hit something, and every alpha should stay out of his way. It changes every couple months or so, so what’s to say that this time around, he wasn’t attracted to a random alpha?

If that’s the case, all Dean needs is time to get back to normal, and the attraction to Castiel will go away. So yes, distance is key. No use slowing the process.

It’s hard to say how much time he’s going to need though, considering it’s day three and the attraction still hasn’t quite gone away yet. Dean’s hopeful though: Any day now he’ll stop waking up from blue-eyed-filled dreams with a hard-on and slick oozing down his thighs, he’s sure of it. And maybe his sudden dislike of all of his clothes because they have too many holes or patches, making it impossible to look nice for the alpha, will go away soon too. Dean’s also hoping he’ll eventually stop subconsciously scenting the air for Castiel, and at some point, he’ll be able to _not_ stop and stare every time he sees the alpha in the distance.

So he’s hopeful. Or he was. Until it started.

It being when every friggin’ person from both the fort and town (well, a lot of people anyway), started coming up to Dean, leading with a very strange question. One that Dean wasn’t quite sure how to answer.

_That alpha, Castiel? He yours?_

* * *

It starts with the sellers in the marketplace.

Dean goes there first thing in morning to visit people and get a hot breakfast in before he’s off to work. He usually goes for a couple egg-and-venison-bacon sandwiches from Garth’s stand, since the food is tasty enough to risk getting stuck chatting with the tall, lanky beta for a straight half-hour. Well, Garth is the one rambling away; Dean just parks it on one of his stools, stuffs his face and makes ‘uh huh’ noises on occasion. Sometimes Garth will even make him another sandwich while he’s sitting there and won’t even charge for it — and Dean can’t complain about that. (Especially after a heat.)

That’s his usual routine, unless it’s Thursday. Thursdays are different; Thursdays are _special_. That’s when Donna, the town sheriff, has the day off, and she comes to the fort to sell her infamous, homemade _doonuts_. They’re so good that Dean can eat twelve of them in one sitting, and he never, ever misses out on a chance to buy at least two dozen. And though Donna has the same bubbly personality and chatty tendencies as Garth, Dean likes her a whole lot better. She always has a ton of juicy town-related gossip to share with him, and there’s just something that can’t be beat about munching on several doonuts while hearing all about the latest shenanigans Krissy and her friends have gotten up to, or the newest thing Cesar’s horses were spooked by. Dean doesn’t know what it is, but he loves it.

This particular Thursday, Dean arrives at Donna’s stand bright and early as usual, but is surprised to see her still unloading boxes from her cart. Her usual “and a hunky-dory good mornin’ to you, stranger!” is as cheerful as ever, so she doesn’t seem too bothered that she’s opening later than usual; still, as Dean goes to help her, he asks her what happened.

“Well, Freckles and I nearly didn’t make it today,” she says, jerking with her thumb to point at her glowing-eyes mule, chewing on hay from the attached trough on her cart. “Road was all muddy from Farmer Tom waterin’ his crops, and one of my wheels slipped right into a sinkhole. Wham-bam, just like that, we’re stuck. Thought I was goin’ to have to book it all the way back to town to find me a shovel, when that alpha of yours showed up.”

At that, Dean nearly drops a box of doonuts he’s carrying. “My what now?” he bleats, cheeks flaring.

Donna doesn’t seem to notice (and thank fuck for small mercies), tapping her chin thoughtfully. “Oh, what’d he say his name was? Right. Castiel!” She beams, her ponytail of blond hair swishing from the side to side as she plants a hand on her hip and looks back at Dean. “Strange one, ain’t he? He was out doin’ the funniest thing: _Going for a run_. Wasn’t runnin’ from nothing; just runnin’ for— oh, what’d he call it? Oh right: _Exercise_. Have you ever heard of such a thing?”

Dean’s actually read about that in a book once, but since he’s still trying to compose himself, he just shrugs stupidly. Donna makes a ‘huh’ sound, and then goes back to unloading her boxes, smiling again. “Anyway, can’t complain that he was out there, can I? He got my cart unstuck and got me back on the road. Didn’t even want payment for it — was just happy to help! But when I found out he was one of yours, it all made sense.”

Dean has a moment to think, _Wow, that’s really nice of Castiel,_ before he’s struggling not to blush again. That’s because his omega brain decides to pipe in then, replacing _he was one of yours_ with just _he’s yours_. He coughs, and then croaks out, “You know me, Donna. I only hire the best.”

“Darn tootin’!” she agrees and then throws a sly wink at him. “He may be weird with that whole ‘running’ thing of his, but he was very polite. And _cute_. You got yourself a keeper there, Winchester.”

At that point, Dean just gives up on trying not to blush, especially when his omega brain unhelpfully says, _yes, he is, he is a keeper._ And when Donna notices his face, she laughs and nudges him playfully, making Dean’s cheeks burn hotter.

And that’s just the beginning. Soon, Dean’s hearing from Garth about how he and Castiel did meditation together; from Lisa about how Castiel helped Ben bring back a four-antler deer he caught while out hunting, which Ben sold for a great profit; from Ellie, about how Castiel apparently knows Spanish, and he paid full-price for several of her homemade blankets and a poncho. (Which, most people haggle her down for, since they think she’s stupid simply because of her accent.) He also hears from Mildred, about how Castiel stopped by the elder’s home, and played checkers and chess with several of them. And on top of all that, Castiel also apparently spent a few hours in Joshua’s gardens, pulling out weeds and helping feed fertilizer to the foot-long bioluminescent earthworms that the older man keeps as pets.

Then Dean starts hearing from the rest of the Roadhouse fort and his team: from Ellen, how Castiel helped her unload and put away two shipments, and then stayed on to wash dishes before the bar opened; from Ash, on how they both had an _amazing_ conversation about partial differential equations (which, Dean doesn’t even know what that _is_ ); from Charlie, about how Castiel’s somehow befriended Mr. Wiggums, the resident tomcat that doesn’t like _anyone_.

And it goes on and on: People stop by his office; people interrupt him when he’s in the middle of a conversation. All about _Castiel_ this, and _Castiel_ that. Oh, and some of them start bringing food and other gifts by, since Castiel refuses any payment for helping, and they have to give him _something_. Dean loses count how many times Becky has to announce over the intercom, _“Castiel Novak, there is a package waiting for you in the office.”_

(It’s possible Dean tries to sneak a peek every now and then to see if Castiel is in the lobby, but he always seems to miss the alpha. Dean doesn’t know if he’s disappointed or relieved every time Becky says, “You just missed him.”)

Since Castiel isn’t actually Dean’s employee, he only helps Victor and Benny for a few hours in the morning before he’s free for the rest of the day. And apparently, when he told Dean he wanted to help people, he was _not_ kidding, and Dean’s amazed how much people love it. Not to say they don’t all help each other out when needed — they’re a tight-knit community like that — but Castiel is kind of going above and beyond, seemingly out of the kindness of his heart.

The problem is that all of Castiel’s good deeds? They’re all attributed to Dean; like he hired Castiel specifically to do exactly that. Which is completely wrong, and Dean tries to correct people when they imply that, because he _really_ can’t take credit for Castiel’s hard work. It’s just difficult for Dean to speak though, because he forgets how to speak when everyone keeps stopping him and leading with, _that alpha, he yours?_

And the more and more Dean hears about Castiel and all he’s doing, the harder that question becomes for him to answer.

And it starts to make him think.

* * *

Well, he actually had started thinking before that, around day three when his theory about his attraction to Castiel being related to his heat kind of started falling apart at the seams. And faced with his third major existential crisis in less than a week, Dean just wants to shut down and go into _deny deny deny_ mode, because it’s so much easier than self-reflecting.

Except hearing about all what Castiel’s doing makes Dean hesitate; makes him self-reflect without even meaning to.

Not to say that’s his strong suite, by any means. Dean’s taken _years_ to admit even the most basic things about himself, since he has this big “I am a male omega” issue front and center. One thing he’s admitted, though? He doesn’t exactly _like_ the role he’s in now. Not to say he doesn’t love aspects of it, that he’s not _proud_ of the his father’s legacy… But Dean had wanted to grow _Winchester & Singer’s_ in other ways, not as one of its leader. Castiel bringing up how he had helped build the power grid that provided both the fort and the nearby town with electricity? Yeah, Dean had wanted to do _that_ , along with fixing cars so they didn’t have to rely on gas, and figuring out how to communicate again with those things called cellular phones. He still tinkers, of course, but it’s just a hobby now — he’s too busy for anything more.

It’s not an easy thing for him to acknowledge all that however, because that also means acknowledging that his dad actually didn’t _want_ his omega son to take over the family business. He had looked to Sammy, the prodigal alpha son, for that; meanwhile, post-puberty, Dean was take off hunts and missions made to do paperwork and other boring menial things instead — anything that kept him under his dad’s watchful eye. For his own safety, Dad would say, which is another thing Dean’s admitted to himself: That was fucking _unfair_.

Ironically, Dean became such an expert on the inner workings of _Winchester & Singer’s _that he actually ended up having to take over when Dad died, simply because he understood how the business ran better than anyone else. And Sammy had wanted to leave too — go off to New California and find his destiny. Dean couldn’t hold his little brother back from that, so here he is now, the Winchester in _Winchester & Singer’s, _and he wasn’t even meant to be.

So, self-reflection. Not an easy thing for him, but Dean’s giving it a whirl. He sits down and asks himself: If his attraction isn’t related to heat, then what is it? _Why_ is he attracted to Castiel?

Now, Dean’s not blind — Castiel is _gorgeous_. Sex hair, vibrant blue eyes, those lips of his — he’s one of the most gorgeous men Dean’s ever seen. And if he were a beta, this would all be a moot point; Dean would have probably slept with him already. (Dean sleeps with betas all the time outside of his heat, and it’s low-key fun; the guys don’t even pop a knot since that only happens when they’re with a beta woman in heat. Not that beta knots are anything like alpha knots; Dean just prefers not to have them in the picture.)

The thing is, Dean also kind of thinks the same thing about Victor and Benny — that they’re good-looking men, except their alphaness cancels out any sexual attraction he might otherwise feel. Even in heat, when Dean really, _really_ wants those damn babies and theoretically it’s only an alpha that could give them to him, their presence doesn’t do anything to him but make him bristle and snarl if they get too close. Dean had always assumed that’s because of the bad experiences he’s had with alphas — that he was turned off them before he even had a chance to learn to feel things for them as an omega.

But what if it wasn’t that? Or at least, not just that?

Because there’s _something_ about Castiel that triggers the _want_ and _need_ inside him; makes his omega brain roar to life and and cry _yes, yes, he is the one who will sire the babies we can’t even have!_ It’s like some invisible rope dragging him toward Castiel; Dean doesn’t know what it is, though, and it’s kind of driving him nuts. Since this has never happened before, he doesn’t know if it’s because he’s just never met an alpha that his body instinctively was seeking out... or if it’s specifically something about Castiel himself.

It’s times like these Dean wish he knew more about the virus that created all of them; what the asshole Lucifer Fos specifically intended for it to do when it came to matters related to heats and knots. Dean knows alphas are attracted to an omega’s scent in or out of heat, while male betas are attracted to the smell of a female beta’s heat. But vice versa?

Female omegas and betas often choose four to five partners to sleep with during the duration of their heat, but how they decide who those lucky males will be is a mystery. Is it scent, sight, intuition? A mix of all three? Dean himself certainly doesn’t know — during heat, the mere scent and sight of alphas and betas tends to make his stomach churn, even though he wants _so badly_. As far as he can tell, betas don’t know either: Every beta child is known for asking their mothers why they chose their possible fathers, and the most common answer is, “They just felt _right_.” Which okay, Dean sees in him with Castiel obviously, but that doesn’t answer _why_.

That leaves the female omegas and how they decide which alphas to sleep with left, but there’s no way Dean’s asking them. One, he’s not outing himself in that way, and two, he just _can’t_ be around them. They just start him down the dark path of thinking about how if he was a female omega, he would be adored and practically worshipped, and he likes to pretend he’s past that, thank you. Oh, and they can actually have kids, which makes Dean’s omega brain want to murder someone.

Either way: Whatever the unseen force is, Dean does not _like_ it _._ He’s spent his whole life trying to control his biology, and the fact that this thing even exists pisses him off. And normally, he’d fight it; refuse to let that thing influence him any more than it has. Dean actually thinks he could do that too — he can be damn stubborn when he wants to be — and he _would_ do it, if only...

If only Castiel wasn’t so goddamn _unalpha-_ like.

Which is the crux of it, isn’t it? Castiel’s _nice_. Kind. Respectful. Polite. And all the stories Dean’s hearing about him? What he’s doing is noble, but more than that, it’s just as important as how most people ‘help,’ by going on patrol or putting down a monster. It may be even greater, hell: Dean knows what value is found in going to play checkers with the elders; meditating with Garth; treating Ellie like there’s nothing wrong with her. Dean knows how the simplest acts can mean the world to people — from helping an old man tend to his prized garden, to providing a hot cup of coffee to someone who hasn’t had one in a long, long time. And Castiel must know that too, which… Well. Not many people do. He’s never met anyone else who understands that... just like he’s never met an alpha like Castiel before.

Or, as Dean is starting to realize from all that thinking and self-reflecting, he’s never met an alpha like Castiel… But he had used to _believe_ in them.

Once, for Dean, alphas had been fierce warriors and protectors, committed to helping the less fortunate and giving humanity a fighting chance. Yet, after his first heat, when alphas he knew and trusted had gone from friends to monsters when he was at his weakest, Dean stopped thinking that. When his nicknames went from “little man!” and “the genius!” to “ _little whore_ ” and “ _the bitch;”_ when his entire world changed, instead of just his body. There was no room for a such naivety in a world where the alphas Dean knew were sometimes no better than the raiders that roamed the wastes.

But Castiel isn’t like them. Never was. He’s already proven that by the mere fact he’s treated Dean with the utmost respect. And he’s the type of alpha Dean used to dream about becoming: Castiel is a warrior and a protector, as a former Blue Angel; he’s giving humanity a fighting chance by staying on to help deliver the medicine to New California; and he’s committed to helping people.

And it’s all that, paired with whatever is drawing him to Castiel — and the fact that the alpha really _is_ a gorgeous man — means Dean just can’t shove this aside, or ignore it, or blame it on his heat or anything else like that. Every time he tries, he just keeps hesitating, keeps thinking and self-reflecting, keeps going over the question, _that alpha; he’s yours?_

But that the answer to that question isn’t a resounding _no_ still terrifies Dean. Just because Castiel is some sort of alpha that Dean didn’t think actually existed, doesn’t mean he can _trust_ him, right? Sure, Castiel has looked at him like no other alpha has, or treated him like no other alpha has without first being beaten into it, doesn’t mean anything. And it’s not like he _knows_ anything about Castiel, besides that he’s nice and respectful and likes helping people. So why is his omega brain _convinced_ he’s a keeper? What do they have in common, besides a possibly mutual attraction? And the understanding that sometimes you gotta give people what they don’t even realize they need? And how you sometimes have to sacrifice your own wants and desires for need of others…

Fine, okay, they do have shit in common. But what’s Dean expecting out of this, besides a heat-induced fuck that could jeopardize his entire business? It’s not like Castiel would actually be _his._ Alphas and omegas? They don’t fall in _love_. Betas, and the occasional alpha/beta couple, will settle down together outside of heats, but omegas? They don’t do that. Not even his mom, who had _two_ kids with his dad (something that rarely happens!) didn’t choose to be with him exclusively. They respected each other, sure, but it wasn’t _love_ , like the kind Dean’s read about in books. And to think he even has a chance at that, with Castiel or anyone else, is _stupid_.

And then there’s the part of Dean that’s still convinced that this is all a trick. That still thinks there’s something not right about all this. That he’s being driven solely by his hormones, like he swore he would never be. That swore he would never give an alpha the _time of day_ —

So why is that question — _that alpha, he yours?_ — so difficult for him to answer?

Why does he want to keep saying _yes?_

* * *

It’s not until day five, five days until their trip starts, that Dean runs into Castiel again.

Thankfully, not _literally_ , like last time. Dean’s on his way to go see Rufus to finally ask about about borrowing a couple of his shepherds, when he passes the Roadhouse Bar, and there Castiel is. Dean does a double take when he sees him over by community pump, where people can fill up their canteens or other containers with filtered water. He’s talking to Jo while he fills up his canteen, but that only takes up a millisecond of Dean’s attention.

Because. Well, Castiel is right there.

And he’s dressed only in a pair of shorts and a sleeveless shirt.

There’s skin. So much skin. Gloriously tanned skin. And muscles. Lots of those. On his arms. On his legs. There’s pecs and abs too, because Castiel’s seems to have splashed water on himself, and that shirt is hiding absolutely no dip or bend. Sweat or water has mussed up Castiel’s hair so much it’s looks like someone dragged their fingers through it in a moment of passion. And the thing of stubble he’s got going on his jaw and chin is so wondrous, that whomever made him shave before needs to be court-martialed. Same with whomever made him hide all the muscles under that armor, because _fuck._

Castiel’s got tattoos, too, which Dean didn’t even know he was into until this second. There’s one on Castiel’s side that looks like some sort of writing, though Dean doesn’t recognize the language; the other are black feathery wings tinted with blue covering his upper arms and across his shoulders. That tattoo is beautiful, and Dean’s fingers itch, wanting to skim his fingers along it. Maybe while Castiel’s between his legs, where Dean could also run his fingers into his hair and make it look exactly how it looks now—

 _Son of a bitch_ , Dean thinks with a shudder. He wavers on his feet too, hot and getting wet between his legs, filling with a _want_ that almost feels like heat. And God, he has to stop this before it gets out of hand, he really does — there aren’t any alphas around besides Castiel, but he still doesn’t want to alert the whole world what’s happening in his pants. It’s still the last thing he needs.

But given what he’s been thinking about for the past few days, it’s not exactly easy to get himself back under his control. His omega brain, not keen on giving up the ground Dean’s let it gain, points out that Castiel should _know_ he’s interested in him. That’s what slick advertises — he shouldn’t hide it. And really, that’s so unhelpful, especially when Dean feels the urge to _listen_ to that side of him.

Instinctual fear of being found by other alphas wins out in the end though, and Dean sucks in a couple deep breaths and tries to subtly adjust himself with the the half-hard dick in his pants. He’s far enough away that the waft of slick that rises up when he shifts shouldn’t get too far and possibly distract Castiel from the conversation he’s having. Whatever he and Jo are talking about is making him smile too, and Dean’s heart flutters at the sight. It makes him draw closer, wanting to know the cause of it, and maybe getting that smile turned on him...

“So you run, just for the hell of it,” Jo is saying to Castiel, and Dean glances over at her. She’s sitting on a stack of crates, legs swinging slightly, her blond hair falling in curls around her shoulders. Judging by the open crates and paperwork at her side, she was doing inventory, though now she’s squinting up at Castiel like he’s some sort of peculiar bird. “Not because you’re being chased by somethin’.”

Castiel chuckles softly. It’s a sound that makes Dean’s heart flutter again. “No. It’s called _exercise,”_ he says, and Jo’s nose wrinkles _._

“Ex-er-what?”

Dean almost snorts out loud at that, even though he gets it. It’s a strange word, and even stranger thing to actually understand. He’s not the only one amused either, as Castiel chuckles again.

“ _Ex-er-cise_. It’s an old world concept,” he explains after taking a sip from his canteen. “Our ancestors weren’t as active as we are today, and it negatively affected their health. Running or walking, or what they used to call _cardio_ , was a way to help keep their bodies healthy and prevent many fatal diseases.”

“ _Car-dee-o_?” Jo repeats, with a look on her face that says she kind of thinks Castiel is making shit up. That’s when she notices Dean, and she calls out to him. “Hey, Dean! Have you ever read about _car-dee-o?”_

Dean feels himself growing warm when Castiel’s blue eyes shift to look at him, surprised. But it fades after a moment, as Castiel then smiles in greeting, and Dean’s heart just kind of _melts._ “Umm,” he mumbles, trying to remember what Jo’s question was. It’s difficult when he’s kind of lost in blue eyes, but right. Cardio. Wait, is that how it’s pronounced? “I thought it was _car-die-o_ , actually. Because there’s no ‘e’ in it and…”

And now he feels dumb, great. He has to salvage this. “But yeah,” he coughs, and then makes a gesture toward his chest. “It, uhh, helps the heart? I think?”

When Castiel nods, Dean’s chest fills with pride. Damn, not bad for something he read who even knows how long ago, and can’t even pronounce right. Meanwhile, Jo tuts, and then she’s squinting back up at Castiel.

“Okay, I guess. But we walk everywhere now, so why run?” she asks, and then looks him over. Twice. “I mean, you look healthy to me?”

 _Yes, he does,_ Dean thinks, glancing over at Castiel as well. And an healthy alpha is good. He’ll be able to keep up with the marathon sex sessions that heats usually entails. Not to mention, a healthy alpha equals healthy babies—

And that’s his omega brain thinking again. Well, mostly his omega brain. Shit.

“I suppose it’s a habit now,” Castiels says then, and Dean glances back up at him. He’s smiling again, as he looks between them. “With the Blue Angels, I often had to run several miles every morning, and I kept that up while I was in Cornell. Though I rarely had the chance to go to the surface unless it was for a recon mission. Cornell’s facilities are deep underground, so our only form of exercise was to run on treadmills—”

“Tread-what?” Jo interrupts, while Dean frowns too. Yeah, what?

Castiel pauses, glancing between them again before he lets out an amused huff. “It’s an old world machine, designed for people to run in place at various speeds and inclines,” he explains and at that description, Dean scours his brain, trying to remember if he’s ever seen a picture of it or read about it. He likes machines, so something like that would have caught his attention… “Treadmills are practical and efficient way to exercise when you have no other means, but there is nothing quite like running _outside_. Running amongst nature.”

At that, Dean watches as the Castiel’s gaze slides away, head tilting up toward the treeline and the blue sky. The movement draws his attention to the cord around Castiel’s neck, and the hint of several pendants from underneath his shirt. They’re thin and silver in color, spread out like a fan across his collarbone; there might be letters on them too, and are they glowing blue? He frowns curiously, but that feeling fades when Castiel speaks again with a softness to his voice that Dean’s never heard before.

“Especially _here_ ,” he’s murmuring, and his expression grows wistful, and wondrous. Dean follows his gaze, looking out at the bioluminescent trees and the fifty-foot corn and wheat stalks, all swaying in the wind. Birds flit by too, warbling songs as they go. “There’s so much _life_ here. So much _green_. I never thought nature could find its way back like this, not after what our ancestors did to the world. It’s beautiful.”

Dean glances back at Castiel. He’s so used to nature, he isn’t awed by it, and it takes him a moment to remember that Castiel comes from the east. There, trees are barren and plants are nothing more than dried husks. Everywhere you walk there’s dry, cracked dirt, and the sun beats down on you since there's barely any shade to be found. People there could barely grow any food for years, since the water was so bad that crops died before they even had a chance. Most people survived on whatever perishables they could scavenge from stores, or by hunting, but Dean knows starvation was common. And with so little resources, that meant a lot of fights to protect or steal what they could, which is how the raiders there got so powerful. And they were the ones Castiel and the Blue Angels had to put down so the caravans could finally get out there and deliver food to the people.

Maybe that’s why Castiel is so nice to people, Dean realizes. He probably saw so many people suffering, and that would make anyone who has the means want to help. It’d make them kind too, wanting to bring a little joy to an otherwise bleak world...

“You know nature’s nasty out here though, right?” Jo says then, and both Dean and Castiel glance back at her. “I mean, go too far, and you can run right into a spiked bear or those wild dogs with the red eyes. They’ll eat you up in a heartbeat.”

Castiel chuckles again before he nods in agreement. “Well, I do bring protection, just in case,” he says, and then _lifts his shirt up._ Dean feels his cheeks heat up, despite himself, because _skin_.

It’s obvious Castiel means to show the pistol he has holstered to his waist, but Dean’s eyes are far more focused on other things. Like abs. And the faint dip of Castiel’s navel, which leads to the bulge in his shorts and—

— and Dean really needs to look away now, otherwise he’s going to have problems again. _Fuck_ , though, his eyes don’t want to _move_ —

“I can see that,” Jo teases with a smirk, and that makes Castiel blink, before his cheeks color. He glances over at Dean, and finally Dean looks away, hoping his face isn’t bright red either. Castiel stammers something along the lines of _that’s not what I meant_ , which causes Jo to start giggling and say, “I’m just messin’ with you, Novak. Nice _protection_ , though.”

“Thank you?” Castiel replies in a slightly confused tone, which makes Jo giggle again. Then she slaps her hands on her knees, before she’s getting up from her crate and lifting her arms above her head.

“Well, I should get back to inventory before Mom yells at me,” she says as she stretches, before she drops her arms and then smiles at them both. “It was nice meeting you, Novak. Welcome to the Roadhouse by the way; hope you enjoy your stay. Dean, I’ll see you later?”

Dean manages to nod, and after she picks up one of her open crates and papers, she waves and back toward the building. And then he and Castiel are _alone_ , which Dean realizes a half a second too late and he quickly glances over at the alpha. _Uh oh,_ he thinks worriedly. _That’s probably not good._

Instinct sets in, telling him to put some distance between them because he’s alone with an alpha he doesn’t really _know._ And at the same time, his omega brain is thrilled, wanting to lean in and make sure Castiel gets a scent of his slick. It’s a very confusing mix of feelings, leaving Dean kind of paralyzed when Castiel looks at him with a smile, and says, "Miss Harvelle is quite pleasant to speak to. And she said she was your sis—”

He pauses then, and as his eyes flick over Dean quickly. He must notice how tense Dean is, as he quickly looks away, and then shifts back, out of arm’s reach of Dean. Dean watches him do that and then realizes Castiel is giving him space, and not staring either. Just like he did before. “She said she was your sister?” Castiel finishes.

 _This fucking unalpha alpha_ , Dean thinks happily as the tension unwinds from his limbs. The way he respects Dean’s space still gets to him, and makes his heart pound. “Uhhh, not blood or anything. We just all kind of grew up together,” he answers, and Castiel glances at him before just as quickly looking away. “Jo’s a great kid. I helped raise her right. Though, don’t ever let her talk you into a round of pool if you value your money and pride.”

“I will keep that in mind,” Castiel says with a somewhat confused smile as his brow creases slightly, and he glances back up at Dean. “And by pool… I’m assuming not the thing you swim in?”

Dean’s thrown by that. A thing you _swam_ in? _No one_ swam if they didn’t have to. Water was too radioactive for that. “I was talking about a game,” he says, and then frowns himself. “Is that… Is that another old world thing?”

Castiel nods. “It was used for both exercise and recreational purposes,” he explains, and Dean’s frown grows.

“They swam? For fun?” Dean shakes his head. It’s just so hard to imagine people _willing_ to go into water. “Didn’t they worry about getting eaten by a giant minnow or something? Those things are vicious.”

Castiel quirks an eyebrow thoughtfully. “I don’t believe animals lived in the pools, but I suppose not. They would also go swim in other bodies of water, such as rivers or the ocean.”

“You mean where _sharks_ live?” Dean asks, flabbergasted. _Jesus,_ who does that?! “Man, our ancestors were _crazy_.”

Castiel chuckles at that. “Having read so much about their exploits, I tend to agree,” he murmurs, and that makes Dean go still. Wait, did he just say…?

No way. No way. Does Castiel like to— “You like to read old world stuff? Books? ” Dean asks quietly, heartbeat quickening.

Castiel glances at him and then away again; he looks embarrassed as he nods. “I collect them, which I know is unusual, but… I find our predecessors, our history, fascinating.”

“Dude,” Dean exclaims, and he knows he’s grinning like an idiot. Castiel gives him an odd look, but Dean does not _care,_ because _dude_. “You _collect_ them? Do you have them with you?”

“Yes?” Castiel answers slowly, frowning slightly. It’s obvious he’s confused by Dean’s reaction, so he quickly explains.

“Dude, that’s _awesome._ I collect them too!” he explains, and Casitel blinks, before he looks full on at him in surprise. Dean doesn’t mind though, because this is so _exciting._ “I have a ton of them. _Boxes_ of them. I probably have the entire remains of the Chicago library in my room, hell.”

Castiel’s expression flits from surprise to one of awe. “You have books from Chicago? I assumed those had been lost when the city was hit by a bomb…”

“I must have gotten at least two hundred books out of there. I used to bring trunkloads home every time I went out with my dad, which he _hated_ ,” Dean says, when a thought occurs to him. Without really thinking, he moves over, and slaps Castiel’s arm with a grin. “Shit, we have to compare our libraries — you probably have stuff I’ve never _seen_ before.”

“We… We should,” Castiel stammers slightly, sounding nervous, which makes Dean frown. And then it makes him realize what he’s done.

To touch Castiel’s arm, he had to move toward him… which means they’re standing _right_ in front of each other now. There’s only a couple feet between them, and Dean realizes with a start that Castiel could so easily grab him before he could react. And when he’s this close, Castiel has to be able to smell the drying slick coming off him; Dean watches his nostrils flare and his throat bob in a swallow, indicating he has. Dean feels a spike of fear, only for it to fade after a moment.

That’s because Castiel doesn’t react to it. Dean is _right there,_ smelling like omega slick, which Castiel’s designed to respond to. Most alphas’ lose themselves to instinct, and move to take what they feel is theirs. But Castiel _doesn’t_ do that. He doesn’t. He only smiles, his body language remaining completely non-threatening as he says, “I would like that a lot, Mr. Winchester.”

Dean’s heart is pounding, and right then, he can feel the _thing_ between them again. (And God, Castiel smells good, Dean never realized how good an alpha could smell.) It’s thick and heavy and _there_ , but he isn’t scared of it for once. Because Castiel didn’t react to his scent. Castiel kept on respecting his space. He’s the kind of alpha Dean didn’t know even existed, and it leaves him breathless this time around. _This alpha_ , he thinks.

And like that, Dean finally has his answer.

 _(That alpha, he yours?_ people kept asking him. And Dean knows what his answer is.

_I think I want him to be.)_

“I’m glad,” he finds himself murmuring, catching himself as he licks his lips. He has so many urges all of a sudden: Some still scary, some very exciting. One particular one jumps out at him right away. “And… call me _Dean,_ Novak. Just Dean.”

Castiel’s eyes lift to meet his again. They are pools of water, the kind Dean would happily swim in. “Alright, _Dean,_ ” he murmurs, and Dean shivers. So that’s what that urge was. To hear Castiel say his name. “And you can call me Castiel, if you’d like.”

They share a grin, Dean’s heart pounding again. He thinks he will like that. A lot. He’s so happy right now, that he’d probably like a lot of things. Like comparing books, first and foremost, and after that… Well, who knows. He just forgets about all the unknowns, the questions, the knowledge that alphas and omegas are usually only friends with each other and nothing more.

Right now, none of that matters.

“I got some books in my office, I’ll show them to you” he says, and Castiel smiles and nods in agreement. When Dean turns away, it’s without fear of having an alpha at his unguarded back. No, with Castiel right behind him, it feels so right, so _complete_.

It’s the best feeling in the world.


	5. Chapter 5

_Son of a bitch,_ Dean thinks as he rushes into his office.  _Son of a bitch, son of a bitch._

In hindsight, inviting Castiel over to his office before he has a chance to make it presentable isn't Dean's best call. It leaves him fretting, even though the alpha won't be arriving for a few more minutes, as he had to first fetch his books from the barracks. That gives Dean has a little time to frantically tidy up; hopefully  _enough_ time.

Not to say his office a mess by any means, thank you very much. For once, his neat freak tendencies save the day, as there isn't much out of place. There's just things he has to _hide_ and quick; like, for example, his cot, pillow and blanket that he usually stores in the office closet. He drags that out first, messing up his neatly folded sheets as he does, and shoves the entire thing between the space between his gun cabinet and wall. (Out of sight, out of mind!) Following that, he grabs his laundry basket from his closet and crams that in one of the lockers lining the wall. _God, I hope it doesn't smell_ , he thinks. He hasn’t managed to do laundry this week; it’s still way down on his to-do list, since all his time has been consumed preparing for his departure.

He checks everything else over after that, and yes: His paperwork is stacked neatly on his desk; there are no clean clothes hanging off the file cabinet drawer where he keeps them. His office looks good. Like in the magazines (though everything is a bit dented and rusted, though there’s no helping that). Professional. Nothing that says that Dean _lives_ in his office at all. Because he really doesn’t need Castiel to know that. He wants to make a good impression. Not the "I have no real home" impression.

(But let's be honest, Dean can't sleep in the barracks when so many of his employees are alphas. And the cabin Dad built for him out in the woods? Dean only uses it when he’s gotta go sweat out a heat; otherwise he avoids that thing like the plague. Too many bad memories. No, he’s got a cot, and a deadbolt on his office door, and that’s enough. Unless he has company or clients stopping by. Then it’s just an embarrassment.)

He has the sense to flip his coffee pot machine on and put out the last of his doonuts, before he has this sudden urge to check on his appearance. The mirror on the inside of his locker door says he looks okay: He shaved, his hair is brushed back, he’s wearing jeans without holes in them for once, his shirt is surprisingly clean. Though Dean supposes none of that really matters, since it’s not like Castiel is coming over for _him._ He’s coming over for his _books…_

Or Dean has to assume anyway. Just because he’s admitted he kind of wants Castiel, that actually doesn’t mean the alpha feels the same way. But if he _is_ coming for Dean… Well, Dean isn’t sure how to feel about that. He’s pretty sure Castiel is attracted to him, even if he hasn’t acted on it... Which he may now, now that Dean might let him. Does that mean something might happen here and now? And God, does Dean want anything to happen? He doesn’t even _know_ if he’s ready for that. It's a big step, and it's kind of freaking him out.

Dean stares at himself in the mirror, before he winces. Shit, this could potentially be really fucking _awkward_.

... Though it might be even more awkward if he doesn’t go get his books out.

Dean’s doing just that — pulling out his many storage crates, stacking them up besides his desk, and unlocking each one — when there’s a soft knock at his door. Dean looks up, and Castiel is there, hair wet from what was clearly a quick shower, now dressed in a half-unbuttoned green henley shirt with tan cargo pants. It’s a _really_ good look on him, and for a moment, all Dean can do is stare. It isn’t that he keeps forgetting how attractive a man Castiel is, but he still manages to stun Dean each and every time he sees him. Fuck, he is a _gorgeous_ man.

“Hello,” Castiel murmurs then, and that snaps Dean out of his haze. And it hits him: he didn't say  _hello,_ did he? Shit.

"H-Hey," he says stupidly, and Castiel smiles. Dean finally notices the gray-colored foot locker he’s carrying when he lifts it slightly to show him.

“I… I brought my books," he says.

In that moment, Dean temporarily forgets his worry, his fears, and pretty much everything else, because _b_ _ooks_. Books that could be on subjects Dean's never heard of; books that could reveal history that he never knew about.  _Books_. Oh man, he can't _wait_ to read them; can't wait to hear the stories about how Castiel acquired them. Because there are _bound_ to be stories, and shoot: He's never got to share his own stories with an audience that would actually appreciate the death-defying things he's done to get his hands on a book. Telling them could just be as much fun as reading.

That thought makes him excited, worry and fear fading for good this time. “ _Awesome_ ,” he says, and then it's so easy to wave Castiel in and add, “Come on in, man, make yourself at home."

Castiel's smile grows, and he murmurs a  _thank you_ before stepping inside. Dean shows him where he can set down his foot locker, and then points out where his books are. He finishes that with, "Hey, want some coffee?”

“That would be wonderful, thank you,” Castiel replies, corners of his eyes scrunching up as he smiles again. That pleases Dean — being able to offer hot coffee _always_ scores him points — and he chirps out a _coming right up_ before turning to the cups he’s set aside. He hears the soft thunk of metal of the foot locker hitting wood, which is a moment before Castiel’s gruff voice rings out in wonder.

“These all have books in them?”

Dean looks over. Castiel has moved to where his books are and is now peering down at Dean’s crates, stacked two by two. The awe on his face makes Dean snort. “I did say I had _boxes of books,_ " he teases.

Castiel glances at him, awe still on his face. “You did,” he agrees, and then looks down at his foot locker. He places his hand on the lid, and he sounds embarrassed as he says, “I’m… I’m afraid my collection may not really compare.”

That makes Dean feel kind of bad. It’s not like books are easy to come by, let alone _find_ ; Dean’s really lucky his dad tolerated his obsession, too. Actually, it really all comes down to luck and getting the opportunity, which he points out to Castiel.

“Not everyone has a childhood they can devote to scavenging for books, instead of you know, food and clean water,” he says, as he picks up two full coffee cups and heads over toward Castiel. The alpha watches him approach, and murmurs a _thank you_ when Dean hands him his coffee. “And I didn’t find them all myself. I inherited a good chunk of books from my mom, so she did some of the work too.”

And ah, his mom. Dean remembers all the times he curled up with her while she read him tattered and falling apart children’s books, baby Sammy batting at the pages while making cooing noises. It’s one of Dean’s favorite memories — one of the few memories he really has of her. The weight of that doesn’t affect him as much as it used to when he was younger; now it makes him smile fondly, glad he got to have those moments with his mom.

Castiel is smiling too, expression gentle as he listens to Dean. It makes Dean’s heart flutter when he notices; damn, Castiel is gorgeous when he smiles too. “I found a lot in old college libraries, in glass cases that surprisingly held up all these years,” he goes on, as he perches on the edge of his desk. “Oh, and I found a bunch in what I think was someone’s bomb shelter? I don’t know if they made it in, but their books did.”

“That’s amazing,” Castiel says, shaking his head as he looks down at Dean’s crates again. “Most of the books I’ve found either had half their pages missing or just crumbled to dust when I picked them up. That you managed to find this many in such good condition… It’s _miraculous_. And you knew how to preserve them too?”

He looks up again at Dean as he asks that question, and Dean finds himself grinning again. His books are all wrapped in plastic, and most people don’t know or understand why he does that. But Castiel obviously does, and that just _awesome_. “Yeah. I saw old newspaper articles in plastic and how they stayed preserved?” Dean explains, maybe a little too excitedly. “I realized what was keeping them preserved was because there wasn’t any oxygen around them. So I got the same idea for my books.”

Castiel’s lips part in a grin and the impressed look on his face makes Dean’s cheeks flush. “Brilliant,” he murmurs, “That you figured about vacuum sealing as a preservation tool? Absolutely brilliant, Dean.”

Dean’s cheeks grow warmer. “Yeah, well,” he mutters as he shifts on his feet. Castiel’s habit of complimenting him always leaves him so embarrassed, just because he’s just not used to. “I read a lot. And you know about it too, right? So, you’re brilliant, too?”

Wow. Dean cringes. What a way to return a compliment: Phrasing it as a question. Also, if he had been trying to flirt right then, that would have been the _worst_ pickup line. (Not that he’s even sure he want to flirt. Not yet.) But despite his attempt saying nice failing so badly, Castiel’s eyes widen slightly, before he’s glancing away. He rubs at his neck too, before he glances back in what almost seems like a shy look.

“That’s… kind of you to say,” he murmurs, before looking down at his foot locker. “However, I was fortunate to be provided an education, and was taught such things. I never learned it on my own, like you.”

That makes Dean frown thoughtfully. Castiel got an _education?_ Does that mean…? “You mean you had; I mean you went… Damn, what is it called?” Dean snaps his fingers three times and then brightens when it comes to him. He points at the alpha, who glances up at his finger. “You had _school_? I mean, you _went_ to school?”

His excitement makes Castiel’s brow crease, but he nods after a moment. “The Blue Angels made it a priority to provide every recruit a standard education until the age of sixteen, which is when we enter full service,” he explains. “Our elders believed in strengthening the mind with knowledge just as much as they believed in strengthening the body with exercise.”

“Wow,” Dean says in awe, thinking back to the first classroom he ever saw. He remembers clearly the rows of desks with attached chairs, the weird white plastic board against the wall, the skeleton hanging off a pole in the corner. Dean hadn’t known what he was looking at the first time he saw a classroom; only realized what it was until he had read a book that described the exact same layout. Which leads Dean to his next question, and he leans forward, bracing his elbow on the top crate. Castiel glances up at him as he does, throat bobbing in another swallow.

“Was your school as torturous as all the books make it out to be?” Dean asks.

Castiel blinks once. Twice. Turns to look fully at him. “They say school was _torturous_?” he asks, eyebrows wrinkling up in concern.

Dean snorts before he’s grinning again. “Man, you would not _believe_ how many books are about how horrible school is. Actually, I bet you I have one or two right in this box right here…”

Castiel lets out an intrigued “oh” sound, and the eager look that crosses his face as he steps closer when Dean lifts a crate up onto the desk. “Easy now,” Dean teases, and the alpha’s cheeks flush before he apologizes and starts to back away, but Dean waves it off. He’s sure he’ll be the same way as soon as he sees Castiel’s books, which he points out to the alpha. That makes Castiel let out a more thoughtful-sounding “oh, that’s right,” before he opens up his footlocker and reveals his books inside.

Dean goes through them as soon as he finds the ones he’s looking for for Castiel, who probably had to fight every instinct he had _not_ tosnatch them out of his hands. As the alpha perches on Dean’s desk, a look on reverence on his face as he opens up the front cover to start reading, Dean looks through the foot locker. Castiel doesn’t have many books, but each are wrapped in plastic much like his own, varying in size and shape. To Dean’s delight, they’re on topics he’s never heard of — like the _Bumble Bees of North America: An Identification Guide_ , which what is a _bumble bee?_ — and he quickly gets lost going through each one.

Turns out bees are an extinct pre-apocalypse insect, and they’re _tiny_ , not like the giant stinger flies that plague the southwest. Castiel also has another book filled with pictures of an insect called a _butterfly,_ and Dean is mesmerized how beautiful they are, with their colorful wings in so many shapes and sizes. Castiel also has a book called _The Bible_ , which Dean thinks he recalls seeing before in those old buildings with the ‘t’s on top, called _churches_. There’s another book called _A People's History of the United States,_ which Dean almost starts reading right away, until the next book in Castiel’s lineup catches his eye.

It’s a strange one: On the cover, there is a man in some sort of giant white suit with a helmet that’s more glass than anything, and he’s floating in a black space. The book is called _Space Exploration in the 20th Century,_ and it’s filled with photos Dean thinks are paintings at first. The captions imply they’re _not_ , however, and it has Dean frowningand reading over the book again. Except everything in the descriptions still reads like something from those sci-fi novels he has, that he’s still not sure what if it’s real or not by the end.

But maybe Castiel knows? Dean glances over at the alpha, who is still at the corner of the desk, now halfway through one of the books Dean gave him. Dean hates to interrupt him, but he _really_ does want to know what he’s looking at, so he picks up the book delicately before shuffling over to Castiel. The alpha seems to sense his approach as he murmurs, “It’s surprising how much school hasn’t changed in the past three hundred years,” before looking up at Dean with a smile. When he sees the book in his hand, his smile grows. “That’s one of my favorites. Our ancestors did such grand things, didn’t they?”

Dean frowns, nose wrinkling too. “So, these are real?” he asks, and then glances back down at the book, the photo of a man putting an old American flag on what is presumably the moon. (The moon!) He still can’t believe it. “This actually happened?”

“It did,” Castiel confirms with a nod. His entire face lights up then as he looks down at the book in Dean’s hands. “Our ancestors used to travel to the stars in great machines called _space shuttles_. You can see one on the back cover, what it looked like in their time.” Dean flips the book around to look at the black-and-white airplane thing on the back, but glances up again when Castiel says, “I’ve seen them in the ruins of the Smithsonian, too, with the solid rocket boosters and a model of the external tank they used to the ship could escape Earth’s orbit. They're amazing machines.”

This still sounds like sci-fi stuff and therefore not real, but something else catches Dean’s attention. _The_ _Smithsonian?_ he wonders, but before he can ask, Castiel sets aside the book he was reading, and asks if he can see the space one again. Dean frowns but gives it to him, watching as Castiel turns the page to the photo of the white-covered blue-and-green orb floating in darkness.

“This was the first photo of Earth anyone had ever seen. _The Blue Marble,_ they called it,” he says, and there’s so much wonder in his voice. It makes Dean sit beside him so he too can peer at the page. “This is our _home_. They traveled to the stars to see it. And that's not all they saw: Our ancestors traveled to the moon; to a planet called Mars. They may have even gone further; there could be humans on other planets outside our galaxy. Wouldn’t that be wonderful?”

Dean lifts an eyebrow. Apart from the fact that this all still sounds completely made up, it’s weird to think about the possibility of other humans out there somewhere. Though, as Dean does start to think about it, it makes his gut twist slightly. If there were humans, they wouldn’t be like the rest of them, would they? They’d have escaped before the virus was unleashed on the population; before they all turned into alpha and betas and omegas...

Dean feels a flash of anger at that thought, of those _normal_ humans out there somewhere. _Well, aren’t they lucky,_ he thinks bitterly.

“I’d like to think one day they’ll reach out to us,” Castiel goes on while Dean is internally fuming, and that makes look back up. Castiel has that wistful look on his face again, the one he had one when he was talking about how beautiful nature was, while he flips through the pages. He glances at Dean then and grins slightly. “I like to imagine they’ll return one day; that they’ll return to us our past.”

If Dean wasn’t a sour mood, he could see the appeal in Castiel’s dream. (They could get their history and records and technology back!) But Dean imagines that same exact scenario, and it isn’t pretty. What would those normal humans think when their spaceships landed on the barren wastelands that makes up most of the remains of the former United States? When they confronted the ‘evolved’ human race, and probably were killed off by a group of alpha raiders before they said 'hello'? Of course, that’s if these _normal humans_ would even coming back, and why would they? “You’d really think they’d come _here_?” he asks with a snort. Castiel blinks in surprise. “To the Brave New World that’s a radioactive dust bowl inhabited by _freaks_?”

In hindsight, shitting all over someone’s dream probably isn’t the best way to get them to like you. (And saying 'freaks' probably isn’t good either. It is, however, a great way to highlight all your issues, which is _exactly_ what Dean wants to do. _Not_.) But despite Dean’s so-not-polite retort — which he curses himself for mentally — Castiel doesn’t recoil or get annoyed or worse, leave. All that happens is that Castiel’s grin fades before he looks away, down at the book in his hand.

“I do like to think they’ll return to a world that is on its way to healing,” he murmurs as he fingers trace the outline of the photograph of Earth. “That they’ll return to people who have learned from their ancestor’s sins and righted the wrongs they committed. And I do believe we’re on our way there.”

And because Dean never learns from his mistakes, he throws Castiel an incredulous look. They’re all a long way from before; their ancestors traveled to _space_ after all. “You _really_ think that?”

Castiel glances back at him, and his smile returns, as if Dean isn’t still stomping all over his dreams. “Of course. Just look at what you’ve done here,” he says, which makes Dean frown. “Your company’s efforts have created an environment where people no longer have to struggle to survive. They can thrive, and that frees them up to rebuild things, invent things, _create_ things.”

His smile grows, corner of his eyes scrunching up as it does. “It gives people the chance to rebuild power grids, for example,” he says earnestly, with just a hint of awe in his voice.

Dean starts at that, before he grows embarrassed and has to look away. It’s hardly the first time Castiel’s complimented him like this, but each time it makes Dean want to squirm in place. (And doubly so now, since just a minute ago, Dean was pretty much being a dick.) And Castiel seems to pick up on it this time, as he lets out a quiet, “oh. I’ve made you uncomfortable.”

Dean frowns and looks back at him, seeing Castiel already shifting away, his eyes averted. And that makes Dean feel awful, because he actually didn’t do anything wrong. “N-No, wait,” he says, and without thinking, grabs Castiel’s arm to stop him. The alpha goes still in surprise, before he looks down at his hand and then up at Dean. Dean feels his cheeks go red and he quickly removes his hand. “Sorry. It’s just… Just…”

Castiel has the patience of a saint, as he says nothing as Dean struggles to find his words. “It’s just, you know,” he starts, before he shakes his head in frustration. “You’re giving me credit for something my dad and uncle did. And I have to point out, I built that power grid with my friends. Honestly, they probably did most of the work; I just really built the frame...”

Castiel’s brow creases slightly, and Dean can practically see the protest on his lips. So he quickly adds, “And really, how does that compare to what your guys did? That medicine your guys made?" The reason Castiel is here in the first place, so they can deliver that cargo? "If anything is going to rebuild society, that’s it.”

The alpha looks away at that, back down at the book in his lap. “Yes, I suppose it will,” he murmurs quietly after a long moment, in a tone Dean really can’t read. But it’s gone in the next moment, as he glances back at Dean. There’s something in his eyes then, something that looks kind of like pity. And then he asks a question that does make Dean squirm in place. “Do you really think so little about what you’ve accomplished?”

Dean’s cheeks flare again, because that hits closer to home than he otherwise prefers. And now Castiel is squinting at him, like he’s actually trying to suss out why Dean is thinking that way, which is not a road Dean wants to go down. “No, man, I’m just trying to give credit where credit is due,” he says gruffly.

“By not giving yourself credit?”

 _Jesus_ , Dean thinks. This alpha is like a bloodhound with a scent. And again, Castiel seems to realize that, as he winces and glances away once more. “I apologize. I am making this worse, aren’t I?”

And that makes Dean feel bad again, because it’s not like his issues are in any way Castiel’s fault. He’s not doing anything wrong, except being his usual unalpha alpha self… Which is part of the problem, isn’t it? And Dean finds himself saying that, hoping Castiel will understand. “No, man, you’re just… You’re just so fucking _nice_ to me.”

Castiel glances back at him, and then squints again. “And that is… a bad thing?” he asks, obviously confused.

No, it’s not. It really isn’t. “I’m just not used to it. Especially coming from, you know…” Dean waves a hand, and when Castiel frowns and glances down at himself, he quickly adds, “An _alpha_.”

And there it is, out in the open. This is Dean’s life, where he has to question why someone is so damn nice. He just has to kick a gift horse in the mouth, or however that phrase goes. (And what is a horse anyway?)

For Castiel’s part, his eyebrows lift high. “Oh,” he says, before his brow creases and he looks away. “That would make sense.”

“Not that I’m complaining!” Dean quickly adds, because really, he probably shouldn’t have brought any of this up. “I-It’s all me. _My_ problem. You… You just keep being nice, okay?”

Castiel looks back at him, and for the first thing, there’s a hint of anger in his eyes. “My kind not treating you like the human being you are is not your problem, it’s ours,” he says, heat in his voice. Then it fades away, and Castiel shakes his head sadly. “I’m sorry, Dean. You deserve better than that. All omegas — especially male omegas — do.”

That makes Dean stare at him, because _wow_ , he really wasn’t expecting that. ‘Cause there’s being nice, and then there’s an alpha taking the blame for something usually put on omegas and their hormones and shit, and _apologizing_ for it. _Holy shit,_ Dean thinks.

“I know how… _cruel_ my kind can be,” Castiel goes on, and he looks away again. His hand comes up to chest, fingers curling around the chain around his neck, the one that holds the silver pendants he wears. “I never wanted to be like that. I _cannot_ be like that.”

He sounds pained, like he believes he can be that way. And though he’s only known him for a few days, Dean can’t see how he ever could be. He’s just too _kind_ , and in the short time he’s been here, he’s helped so many people. Cruel people don’t do that.

The fact that he thinks Castiel thinks that about himself makes Dean reach out again, lightly touching his arm. “You aren’t, Cas,” he murmurs, and Castiel looks back at him. Dean swallows, his cheeks heating up in embarrassment as he adds, “You’re the… You’re the nicest alpha I’ve ever met. Hell, you might be the nicest _person_ I’ve ever met.”

 _And I kind of like you,_ he adds, but only to himself.

Castiel looks over at him with an expression of such relief, like maybe he was worried Dean _did_ think badly of him. “T-Thank you,” he says with a smile, and then ducks his head slightly. His hand comes up to rub at his neck again as he glances up at Dean with a shy look. “And you are the most extraordinary person I’ve ever met.”

And that has Dean blushing again, the protests on his tongue even as his heart swells by a lot. The _person_ part gets to him in a good way, even as it leaves him flustered and embarrassed and happy, and also unable to look at Castiel for a moment. But when he looks back, he meets Castiel’s gaze full-on. The alpha’s blue, blue eyes are filled with that wonder and awe he’s only ever had for Dean, the look that never fails to do _things_ to him. He feels himself drifting, just caught up in how gorgeous Castiel’s eyes are. How gorgeous he is in general; Dean’s never met a man as gorgeous as him.

Something shifts between them, that unseen force that pulls them toward each other. Dean barely realizes it’s pulling him in now, just as it seems to be pulling Castiel in. Their noses brush, and Dean's eyes slide closed before his lips meet—

_"Dean!”_


	6. Chapter 6

_“Dean!”_

It’s not Dean’s proudest moment when he jumps out of his skin and ends up hitting Castiel directly in the nose. As Castiel recoils, hand flying to his nose, Dean curses, but he doesn’t get a chance to apologize or even ask if he’s okay. The person yelling his name runs into his office, and Dean, wondering what’s wrong, instinctively looks over.

And it’s Kevin.

“Dean!” he yells as he spins around in a circle, the strings on his brown hoodie he’s wearing over a red shirt whipping around with him. When he twists around and sees Dean at his desk, he brightens and yells again. “Dean!”

Dean feels a stab of panic. Kevin, a still-growing-into-his-body beta with floppy black hair, is flushed and panting and looks like he ran the entire way to Dean’s office. He’s _here_ , instead of the chemical storage warehouse where he works, and that can only mean one thing. Dean curses again, before he’s scrambling over to where the evacuation button is under his desk.

Catastrophic chemical-related emergencies are something they’ve all prepped for, but there are so many things that could go very, very wrong. God, how long do they have? Dean wonders. Are they going to have to evacuate the entire town? Only one person knows, and Dean looks up at him, barking out his name. “Kevin!”

Except Kevin doesn’t reply. Kevin is too busy staring up at Castiel, his jaw dropped wide and his eyes the size of saucers. Castiel, hand to his nose, is giving him a confused look, and it’s a feeling Dean shares as he barks again, _“Kevin!”_

The beta jumps and looks at him, blinking twice. Dean makes a “ _what’s happening?!_ ” gesture, but when Kevin frowns, he snaps, “Do we need to evacuate?!”

“Evacuate?” Kevin repeats and his brow furrows more. “Um, no?”

Dean stares at Kevin in disbelief, pounding heart starting to slow. _What. The. Fuck_ , he thinks before he snarls in frustration, _“Then why are you here?”_

“Oh,” Kevin says and then he points at Castiel. “Because of him.”

That’s really the last thing Dean expected. The chemical store warehouse minutes from blowing up, yes. That, no. He stares at Kevin in disbelief; Castiel, meanwhile, lowers his hand from his nose — which looks okay, thank _fuck_ , Dean thinks — and frowns at Kevin. “Because of me?” he asks.

“And your trip to New California,” Kevin adds and Dean stiffens in surprise. Wait. What? How? While everyone knows they’re going on a trip, Dean’s only told a select number of people _where_ they’re going for security reasons. Kevin was not one of those people, yet he knows, and that leaves Dean so confused.

“How did you find out—” he starts to ask, when he’s cut off by Kevin’s huff.

“With the supplies you’re packing, there’s nowhere else you’d be going,” he retorts with a ‘duh’ tone in his voice, and Dean blinks. Once. Twice. Before he’s rolling his eyes, because God save him from genius teenagers who are also complete smart asses.

(And who also interrupts people right when they’re about to fucking _kiss—_ )

(God, he and Castiel had almost kissed. Is he okay with that? Right now, his stomach twisting this way and that, so he isn’t sure. He might be terrified by it, or he might be excited about it. Or both? Either way, just thinking about what would have happened if their lips met makes his heart speed up, his dick twitch, his eyes flick back over to Cas—)

“But that’s besides the point, Dean,” Kevin goes on and then strides forward to his desk, slamming his hands against it. There’s a wild gleam in his eyes, the kind he usually gets when he’s been up for forty-eight hours straight working on a new concoction. “I have to go with you.”

And that has Dean staring blankly at him again, because once more: Not something he was expecting. Waves of toxic chemicals raining down from the sky, _yes_. That? No.

Kevin’s gaze skitters away then and lands on Castiel’s foot locker. “Are those books?” he asks, eyes growing wide.

“Oh no. No, no, no, no, no.” As much as Kevin is like a little brother to him and they too share a love of books, Dean is not letting him interrupt them anymore then he already has. He reaches over and flips the foot locker shut, which makes Kevin blink and look back at him. Dean levels him with a glare, and the beta shrinks a little. “Kevin, I’m like two seconds from strangling you for nearly giving me a heart attack. Now, I don’t know why you’re here—”

“Because of your trip, I have to go with you,” Kevin interrupts, and Dean frowns. So he _had_ heard the right… and he still doesn’t know what the fuck to make of it.

“I’m sure I’m going to regret asking this, but _why_.”

Castiel’s gaze is flicking between them, and he tenses slightly when Kevin looks at him. “Because of Mr. Novak! I have so many questions for you!” he says. Dean’s eyebrow twitches in annoyance when Kevin blabbers out, “You were a Blue Angel, right? Were you part of the archives recovery project? You had to be right, you look like the right age? What building did you work in?”

“The Smithsonian...” Castiel answers, but just as Kevin’s mouth drops and his eyes grow wide in excitement again, Dean interjects. Because, no.

“Kevin, _no_ ,” he snaps, and Kevin’s mouth snaps shut as he glances back at him. With an annoyed grunt, Dean then looks at Castiel. “Could you give us a minute?”

Castiel looks at him. And for a brief moment, Dean swears a look of panic crosses his face, and Dean isn’t sure what to make of it. “Of course,” Cas murmurs then as he looks away, first to the floor, and then at Kevin, whom he nods at. He turns to leave, and Dean watches him go worriedly. Is he nervous about something? Like the almost kiss? The one that felt so right, so _perfect_ , like if their lips had met, it would have been everything Dean ever _wanted_ —

And there’s a train of thought he can’t go down on. Not yet. First he needs to fix his little problem here before he can think. So he whirls back to the beta and snarls, “What the fuck are you going on about, Kevin.”

He’s known Kevin since the kid was a baby with one tooth and who had a habit of squirming out of his cloth diaper all the time. So Kevin is hardly cowered by Dean’s tone; he just meets it with same level of intensity. “He’s a _Blue Angel_ , Dean,” Kevin says, with that wild gleam in his eyes again. “Before they put down the raider groups in the Capitol Wastes, they spent _years_ recovering historical documents and artifacts from pre-war U.S. government buildings.”

And that was something Dean didn’t know about the Blue Angels, and he frowns thoughtfully, glancing toward the door where Castiel went. He’s surprised Cas didn’t mention that… But then again, it’s not like they’ve talked that much.

He looks back when Kevin babbles, “He has to know all this _history_ , Dean. He might have seen the Constitution or The Declaration of Independence. He might have had access to the Library of Congress! And he said he was in the Smithsonian! I have so many questions for him, Dean. I _have_ to talk to him.”

It’s no surprise Kevin would be interested in that. When he was five, he had declared he wanted to be President of the United States, after reading about in an old social studies book Dean had found for him. When he was told the United States didn’t exist anymore, he had cried for three days straight. So okay, he gets why Kevin is here… but he still doesn’t understand what that has to do with the mission itself.

Also, why hasn’t he talked to Castiel already. It’s pointing out the obvious, but he does it anyway. “Kev, he’s been here for five days already…”

“I was out in the field. I just got back yesterday, and only found out Mr. Novak was here this morning!” Kevin protests, and oh, right. Dean knew that. “But you’re leaving in a few days, and that’s not nearly enough time for me to ask all my questions. So I have to go with you, Dean. I _have_ to. I can’t miss out on my chance to find out more about our history; about the pre-war world!”

Dean frowns again. Kevin’s logic still isn’t making much sense here. “Kev, we’re coming back—” he starts, but is quickly interrupted.

“In _four months_ , Dean,” the beta protests with a shake of his head. “And what if something happens? What if he _dies_? I can’t risk that. I have to go.”

Well, there’s not a nice thought: Cas _dying_. It leaves him uncomfortable, his stomach twisting for a whole new reason while he croaks out weakly, “He’s not going to die, Kevin.”

Though now that that idea is rooting itself in his brain, it’s hard for Dean to stop thinking about it. They’re about to go on a very dangerous mission after all, and any number of things could happen: Raider attacks, dehydration, a bad injury that leads to a deadly infection...

“Then what he doesn’t come back?” Kevin shoots back.“What if he decides to stay in New California?”

Dean twitches this time. Wow, what’s worse than the thought of Cas dying? Cas _leaving_. It’s unsettles him, and it makes his omega brain anxious at just the idea of _his_ alpha rejecting him. Cas wouldn’t. Not after they had almost kissed...

Except — and Dean swallows painfully at this thought — he’s gotta face facts here: Castiel _isn’t_ his alpha. Alphas and omegas — they don’t make claims on each other. They don’t _fall in love._ Nothing would keep Castiel to him once this mission is over.New California would probably be appealing to him — with its growing government that is trying to rebuild and return to the glory of Old California. Besides, New California already took Sam away from him, so why not Cas too...

But no. No. Cas likes it here. He’s basically said that half a dozen times already. He’s going to come back. He is! Probably. Most likely.

Either way, that’s what he tells Kevin, only for the kid to shoot back, “But you don’t know that for sure! Dean, please, just let me go with you. _Please_.”

Fuck, the kid _really_ isn’t helping. Dean feels his anxiety returning, but this time he stops himself before it gets too bad. Because again, Cas likes it here. Even if it’s not because of Dean, he’s going to come back. Dean’s sure of that. For the most part. But he’s not going to worry about it. He _can’t_ worry about it. He really fucking _can’t_.

Deep breaths. Focus on the problem on hand. Which is Kevin, begging to going on this mission. Without bothering to even find out how dangerous it’s going to be, which, hey, says a lot about Kevin. He’s come a long way from his days when he nearly had a panic attack before he had went on his first mission. Besides, the risks are worth it: A chance to speak to someone who possibly knows a ton about their history? Dean would have killed for a chance like that when he was a kid, that’s for sure.

If this was any other mission, Dean might have let him go, since he knows how big an opportunity it is. Except it _is_ this mission, so he sighs, and then shakes his head. “Kev, I’m sorry, but you’re not going with us.”

Kevin’s face falls like a rock. “What, why?”

“It’s too dangerous.”

“But I’m trained! I go out on dangerous missions all the time!”

“Different kind of danger, kid. Different type of training needed.” Dean shoots back, and Kevin grunts. Dean can practically see the wheels in his brain spinning as he tries to come up with a counter argument.

It comes to him a moment later. “If it’s that dangerous, you need an explosives expert! I can do that!”

Well, Dean does have to give him that. The kid has a natural knack for explosives, and he could probably build a bomb out nothing but a cup of Borax and a match. Except that’s not what he’s been trained for — he’s been trained chemical identification and retrieval, which is a very important job. _Winchester & Singer’s_ are always getting requests to find things like fertilizer or bleach while out on scouting machines, or to clear out old factories where chemicals are leaking and poisoning the ground. It’s at those times they need experts like Kevin with them, so they don’t accidentally pick up the wrong item or blow themselves up.

Except that’s not what the mission to New California is about, and Dean points that out. “Kev, if we were going out to retrieve fertilizer, you could come along and play twenty questions with Castiel to your heart’s content, trust me. But this mission requires people trained in combat and firearms.”

“But!” Kevin protests again, and Dean as he flounders again. “I _can_ shoot a gun, Dean, and I don’t have to specifically serve as a guard, right? What about the chuckwagon? I can do that! You don’t need combat training for that!”

He has a point. The most important thing on the entire trip short of a gun is the wagon that carries all their provisions. The person who runs it is isn’t typically fill a guard position either, since their role is the trip’s designated cook, medic, oxen tender and supply tracker. It’s not a position they need filled often, since Dean only gets hired for major trips like this once a year or so; if they’re with the caravans, the caravans handle feeding their hired security.

It’s a pretty important job, but it’s also one of the first things Dean assigned a team member to. “I got someone to handle the chuckwagon already, Kev. I got Jenkins.”

Kevin’s face contorts in disbelief, and well, Dean really can’t blame him. Jenkins is a great kid, and decent with a gun… but he’s not exactly the brightest bulb in the box. Which is kind of why Dean chose him: Jenkins is clueless enough that when Dean goes into heat, he’ll probably think it’s just the flu. That’s the joy of working with betas that haven’t been around many omegas — they don’t know the signs of heat.

And while it’s not exactly a foolproof plan, having to bring two additional guards and keeping them in the dark about what he is has kind of limited Dean’s options. It’s kind of too bad that he never told Kevin, however, since the kid’s practically family. Dean just never found the courage though...

Which is the exact opposite of Kevin, who has the courage (or a knack for stating the obvious, at the very least) to point out the big problem in the Jenkins’ plan. “Jenkins? He’s your _cook?_ Have you tried his food? It’s _awful_. And he barely passed his first-aid exam! When has he ever done inventory? I have, Dean. I keep track of chemical stores, so I bet I can do the same with our provisions. And I know how to cook; Mom taught me. I passed my first-aid exam with flying colors and—”

“And the answer is still no, Kev,” Dean says, and Kevin lets out a pained sound. “I’m sorry, kid, but this mission involves traveling past raider territory and going through the wastes. We have to travel in a small group, and I’ve already got my team assembled.”

Which actually isn’t true; Dean still needs to figure out who the last person. But Kevin doesn’t need to know that, and it seems he’s done fighting anyway, as he lets out a heavy sigh. His face grows glum, like he’s imagining Castiel, with his brain full of history facts, riding off into the sunset, never to return. And well, now that he’s imagining it, Dean is too as much as he doesn’t want to. And he’s reassuring himself just as much as he is Kevin when he says, “Cas will come back, Kev. And hey, until then, you got a whole five days to ask him questions.”

Kevin concedes that with a “yeah, I guess,” but he still looks sad. That pulls at Dean’s heartstrings, because fuck, he’d feel the same way if he were in Kev’s shoes. (And well, just the thought of Cas leaving makes him feel that way.) It also reminds him of the lesson he learned painfully from his dad, too: Never leave on a mission on a bad note. So he reaches over, patting Kevin on the head.

“Cheer up, Kev,” he says, forcing a smile. Kevin’s dark eyes shift to meet his. “If I hadn’t already assigned Jenkins, I’d consider your proposal. I swear. You got pretty damn good aim with that crossbow of yours you like to use, and personally, I’d love to see your homemade grenades against the raiders. They’d never know what hit them.”

Kevin looks away as his lips twitch and then slowly slide into a smile. “That would be amazing,” he agrees.

At that, Dean grins, and then ruffles his hair. “That’s the spirit,” he says, and then adds, without really thinking, “And listen. If something comes up, and Jenkins can’t be our chuckwagon master, come talk to me, okay?”

Kevin stiffens, and then his eyes swing back to Dean. “Really?” he asks, in a voice Dean can’t quite read.

“Uh. Yes?”

Kevin grins then, and it’s not one of his usual happy grins. Not when it’s paired with the wild gleam in his eyes again. He shoots up then, grin spreading from ear to ear as he shouts, “Thanks, Dean!” and takes off out the door.

Dean blinks once. Twice. And then realizes what he’s done and gives chase. “Kevin, no,” he yells. “Kevin! Don’t do something to Jenkins!”

Annnnnnd it’s too late. Kevin is already out the building door, which is still swinging on the hinges while people stare at the whirlwind that must have flew past. One of those people is Castiel, who is sitting on a sofa that Dean has just outside his office for those who have to wait to speak to him. The alpha cocks his head, before his gaze shifts questionly to Dean.

There must be something on Dean’s face, as his eyebrows crease in worry. “Are you alright?” he asks.

Apart from the fact that he just gave Kevin incentive to have Jenkins mysteriously go missing for the next five days, Dean supposes he’s okay. Nothing like getting one of his employees ‘accidentally’ poisoned or something, right?

(He should probably warn Jenkins to watch out short betas with floppy hair for the next five days.)

Except now he’s around Castiel again, and Dean stiffens when he realizes that, his eyes shooting over to the alpha’s. It all kind of comes back to him at once: the almost-kiss; Kevin’s fears that Castiel wouldn’t come back from the mission; Dean’s _fear_ that Cas won’t come back from the mission. And that one tiny moment when Cas had look panicked before he had left the office, and Dean wasn’t sure what to make of it.

“Fine,” Dean ends up croaking out. He’s all a bundle of nerves and worry and uncertainty, and there’s an elephant in the room named _The Kiss_ standing between them. Which they should probably talk about.

Probably.

“Good,” Castiel says slowly, maybe even hesitantly, and then glances toward where Kevin ran off. “Did your meeting… go well?”

“Yeah,” Dean replies. (Except for the part where he’s probably ensured someone is going to find Jenkins tied up in a closet somewhere after they leave.) “Kevin is… uh, really excited you’re here.”

Cas’s lips twitch slightly in amusement, and he looks away. “Yes. I… Heard that.”

Shit. Dean thinks. What else did he hear? The whole conversation about how Cas might stay in New California? And Cas isn’t going to say anything to that? Like a ‘Kevin shouldn’t worry?’ or something that would assuage Dean’s fears too?

Dean starts to fret about that again, before he forces himself to stop. Because no. He’s not thinking about this. It’s stupid; it’s dumb. Castiel likes it here, that’s obvious. He isn’t going to leave, and Dean’s not letting his paranoia and fear ruin this for him, dammit. Castiel is a _good man_ , and Dean doesn’t want to lose that to his insecurities. Not this time.

That does mean addressing the elephant in the room, however, as painfully awkward as that sounds. But, for fucking _once_ , embarrassment weighs out want, so Dean sucks in a breath and forces himself to relax. To smile. To kinda flirt. “So, huh. Where were we?”

Castiel’s reaction… Isn’t what Dean expects. It’s subtle, just the tightening of his shoulders, the quick flick of his eyes up to him and then away, the bob of his throat as he swallows. And Dean feels his first flicker of worry, his smile turning falling to a grimace. “We were discussing... space travel,” the alpha says quietly.

That wasn’t what they were doing at all, but they’re out in an open space now, and maybe Castiel doesn’t want to say it out loud. Dean certainly wouldn’t — not with Becky at her desk, and Charlie wandering in munching on one of Garth’s sandwiches as she heads over to her spot. And maybe Castiel’s shy, he tells himself. Or worried he overstepped his bounds. Hell, maybe Dean is still telegraphing his fear about Cas leaving in some subtle way and the alpha is picking up on that. Castiel’s so mindful of Dean’s body language and space as it is, so that’s actually quite possible. Yeah, that has to be it.

Because what’s the alternative? That Cas is pretending they didn’t almost kiss? That he’s _regretting_ he almost kissed Dean?

And there’s a worse thought than Cas leaving or dying. So okay, Dean just has to signal to him that he’s okay, right? That he wants this still. He’s open to it. That means relaxing again. Being confident. Cool. “Yeah,” he murmurs, and then puts on his most charming smile that never fails to make betas melt. “W-Wanna’ get back to that?”

There’s no heated gaze at that. No secretive smile at what Dean’s implying. Castiel’s eyes shoot to him again, and Dean wants to pretend that he’s misreading the slightly panicked look on his face. That there isn’t a growing tension in Castiel’s shoulders, and the knuckles of his hands, which are clasped in front of him with his elbows on his thighs, aren’t turning white. And certainly when Cas rises from his seat, Dean wants to pretend he’s keeping his eyes downcast out of respect as he says, “I…I should see to my assigned duties. Benny and Victor had several things they needed my help on today, and it is very close to our designated meeting time.”

Dean’s stomach drops.

Is he being rejected right now?

Dean’s been there: The awkward morning afters after a one night stand where he and his partner for the night kind of dance around each as they try to suss out if they like each other more than physically. And it’s usually Dean that ends up bailing, too worried about the long-term where at some point he has to out himself as an omega.

This is going to be a first though, if they didn’t even fucking _kiss_ before Castiel said ‘no.’

So Dean tries once more, because again, maybe Castiel is embarrassed or worried or something else entirely. “You know,” he jokes weakly, and Castiel lifts his head slightly to look at him. “I am the boss. I can send them a note saying you got reassigned for the day.”

At that, Castiel lets out a tiny huff, and his lips twitch toward a smile. Like he’s imagining that note, and how it would say Cas has the day off so he can ‘read books.’ (And what a terrible euphemism that would be if that got around.) But despite the smile, which makes Dean’s heart lift in hope a little, it quickly fades, and the alpha looks away.

“It would be remiss of me to take advantage of you like that,” he murmurs, blue eyes trained on the ground. “It’s barely my first week here, and I’ve taken up too much of your time already.”

 _Right._ “Right,” Dean says. Yeah, Castiel is definitely waving around a flag that says _no_ on it, and Dean’s first instinct? Go completely numb. Just to save face. To keep himself from reacting in a visible way and not say something he shouldn’t before he has the chance to go slink off to his office where he can die of embarrassment at being rejected _before_ they had even kissed. And then spend the rest of the day wondering what the fuck just happened.

(And he’s already starting, too. First thought: Jesus, what if it wasn’t _they_ at all? What if it had just been Dean who had leaned in, and not Castiel? Fuck, that didn’t happen, did it? Right?)

“Right. Well. Okay,” Dean says dumbly because what the fuck does he even say? Something comes to him, and he waves a hand toward his office. “Um, well. You probably want to go get your books then…”

Castiel looks up fully at him at that, and Dean’s not sure, but he suddenly looks guilty. “No. You were… You were reading a few of them. You should finish them,” he says, and then grimaces. He looks away again, his hand coming up to rub at his neck. “And perhaps… Perhaps I should leave them in your office when we leave on the mission. I can retrieve them afterward; when we return from New California. Maybe we’ll have a few to add to the collection too that we can read then?”

He looks up with a tiny smile as he says that, and Dean grows confused. Because he just had an entire talk with Kevin where he had to convince them both that Castiel was going to return after the trip. Maybe Cas had _heard_ that — they were hardly being quiet after all, and now he’s saying he will. And he’s offering for them to get together again to share their books with each other again; an offer that sounds sincere. Not quite like a rejection, but a promise.

He wouldn’t do that if he was outright rejecting Dean, would he? He wouldn’t be that cruel, would he? So is he rejecting Dean him or not? He goes over their entire conversation in their head again, and ends up coming back to something the alpha had said. _It would be remiss of me to take advantage of you like that. It’s barely my first week here._

Is he saying something in that? Is Castiel _not_ rejecting him… just hinting he wants to move slower? He’s afraid of taking advantage of him? Is that what he’s trying to say?

Shit, maybe? Dean thinks back to all those times he got slick around Cas, and then immediately tensed up about it. Cas is so good at reading his body cues that maybe he still senses Dean’s uncertainty, and maybe that he’s not ready. Or maybe it’s all Castiel: He isn’t ready for this either.

Which might be the first time Dean’s ever heard of an alpha rejecting an open invitation for sex, except Castiel’s already done it several times. It would stand that the most unalpha alpha Dean’s ever met wants to _move slow_ , like the girl from one of those teenager novels Dean’s found.

Unless all of this is Cas hinting that he just wants to be friends. But Dean’s seen him; knows Cas is attracted to him. And all that talk about how Dean is the most extraordinary person he’s met? Do friends say things like that to each other? He’s never said anything like that to Benny or Victor, that’s for sure.

He’s really not fucking sure. And part of him wants to ask, but there’s no way he can do that. He’s too terrified to know the answer. Not yet. But he’s willing to test the waters, and he murmurs, “That’s fine then. So I’ll… um… see you later? Maybe… Maybe at dinner?”

Castiel immediately relaxes, and his smile grows relieved. The change is so swift it actually kind of makes Dean’s head spin. “Yes. I’d like that,” he murmurs, and Dean’s heart slowly thumps. Because that isn’t a rejection, right? He wouldn’t say that if he didn’t want anything to do with him, right?

Jesus, this is complicated. But he finds himself nodding, and murmuring, “Okay. Sounds… Sounds good.”

Castiel smile remains as he bobs his head at Dean, murmuring a ‘goodbye, Dean,’ before he turns to leave. And Dean watches him go, so very, very confused and uncertain and really lost, and thinking something he’s thought before: _Who the fuck is this alpha?_

And it kind of hits Dean that he really doesn’t know. But maybe he still has a chance to, and maybe that’s what Cas wants too. For them to get to know each other more, just like in a _real_ relationship… Or at least ones always depicted in books.

And there’s a terrifying thought: that Cas might want a _relationship_. With Dean. Something alphas and omegas don’t do. Ever. Except if anyone was going to do that, wouldn’t it be the most unalpha alpha?

Maybe, Dean thinks, torn between hopeful and terrified. Maybe.


	7. Chapter 7

Two days from the start of their mission, Dean has Benny and Victor in his office to plan the logistics of the trip. Maps, scouting report, supply requests from various towns and his dad's journal are all spread out across Dean’s desk. The map is all marked up, specific travel routes and caravan supply lines all color-coded, which makes the surface a mix of reds, blues, purples and greens. They criss-cross the former United States, some parts shaded with blues and grays for where the ocean has swallowed the former land or where they haven’t explored yet.

Pen in hand, Dean’s following one of the travel lines, which leads through the Rockies and into the wastes, all the way to California. He stops at one of the cities on their route, and taps his pen against it. “What about Idaho Falls?” he asks. 

Benny hums, shuffling through the scouting reports. Each one comes in from various outposts across the country, giving updates on raider and monster sightings, weather and landscape changes and any oddities. When Benny finds what he’s looking for, he reads over the telegram, and then says, “Looks like we’re clear. Idaho Falls haven’t reported a raider sighting on the 15 in weeks.”

Dean hums thoughtfully at that, before he looks to Victor, who answers his question before he asks it. “Idaho Falls is reporting a decent harvest from last year so it’ll be good stop for us,” Victor says, reading over his own report. “They would love fertilizer in exchange, but they’ll take whatever supplies people bring in, too.”

“Well, we got plenty of fertilizer,” Dean replies as he makes a note in his journal that Idaho Falls will be a supply stop. It’s one of many they’ll hit on their trip, which is good: While it does mean stopping a lot to barter for the goods they’ll need, the less supplies they carry with them, the less they’re a target for raiders. And the more random their supplies, the better too: Raiders often look for food and weapons first, not things like fertilizer. 

Dean finishes his note right when an idea comes to him that has him grinning evilly. “Make sure Kevin knows to add five bags of fertilizer to the wagon,” he drawls as he looks at Victor. “No, wait. Make that _ten,_ and then tell him you made a mistake and it was actually five.”

Victor chuckles darkly, and Dean grins wider with a vicious stab of glee. Kevin is going to struggle to lift those fifty-pound bags fifteen times in a row, but that’s what the kid gets for what he did to Jenkins. The guy is still sleeping off whatever concoction Kevin gave him, and no one knows when he’ll wake up — just that it’ll probably be after the rest of them leave for California.

As Victor jots down a note of his own, Dean turns back to his map. He follows the highway lines to the next major settlement after Idaho Falls, and then taps at it as he asks, “Twin Falls?”

“The same,” Benny replies after finding the report. “The 86 is clear, though they did report raiders were heading northwest on the 84 a few weeks ago.”

Dean frowns at that. Usually they get far more raider sighting on Highway 84, especially the closer they get to Twin Falls. The water there is clean — probably cleaner than anything short of the water at Hoover Dam in the southwest — and that attracts decent and not-so-decent folk alike. It’s strange that there aren’t more of the bad folk, and that raiders are heading northwest instead of southeast toward Salt Lake City. That’s where most of the caravans go to trade their wares, and it’s that thought that makes Dean look back at Benny. “Northwest? Really?”

Benny looks through the papers again, and then shakes his head. “That’s what they’re saying,” he says and then frowns thoughtfully. “The raiders might be heading up toward the Boise settlement, because of those… Shit, what do you call those things? Looks like a rock?”

“Poe-tay-toes?” Victor offers, and Benny snaps his fingers in a _that’s it._

“Boise recently established up a trade route with New California, didn’t they?” Benny taps his pen against his chin, making a thoughtful sound. “Probably easy pickings for the raiders if the republic hasn’t quite secured the routes yet.”

Dean thinks that over. They don’t have outposts that far northeast yet, though they might really soon. He knows the caravans here been trying to establish a relationship with Boise to get potato shipments out toward their side of the Rockies — apparently, potatoes are the hot new thing these days. Dean doesn’t know what it is about them, since he’s never tasted one, but every book he’s found that mentions them raves about potatoes. How a food that looks like a deformed egg with a zombie face can taste good, he doesn’t even know.

If they’re so popular though, it would make sense for raiders to target the caravans so they could sell them themselves on the black market. Except… It’s strange. Wouldn’t they have more than raider sightings, if that was the case? Wouldn’t they have heard about potato caravans disappearing or being attacked, if that’s the case? 

His gut says there _should_ be reports, and it bothers him that there isn’t. Bad enough Twin Falls has a reputation for the folk it brings in, and raiders behaving oddly aren’t helping with that. Though Twin Falls is a great supply stop, it’s just too risky with the cargo they’re carrying. 

“Let’s avoid the 84 to be safe,” Dean decides. It’s not ideal — another route takes them further into the wastelands then he would like, and that means packing more supply-wise. They’ll have to either stock up a lot in Idaho Falls, or stop at another settlement along the way... which there is one, thankfully. Dean traces his pen to the point where the 27 and 30 meet, and then frowns when he reads the settlement’s name. “Burley... Burley… Why do I know that name?”

“Uh…” Benny shuffles through his papers, and then pulls one out, looking it over quickly. “Burley. Right. They went radio silent for a day or two a couple weeks ago; didn’t report into Twin Falls like they were supposed to. There was a thought that raiders got them… but no, looks like lightning hit their tower and shorted it out.”

Dean hums. He hates when that happens — it’s a bitch to get radio towers working after that. “So how is their supply situation? Think they’ll trade with us?” he asks Victor, who looks through his own reports until he finds what he’s looking for.

“Water’s questionable, but they got a decent oil supply, looks like. Might be able to trade for gas,” he says, which makes Dean frown.

“Gas?” They have plenty of that packed already, don’t they? “What are we going to need gas for?”

Victor tenses slightly, before he glances up toward the ceiling. He looks uncomfortable, and it’s no wonder when he starts saying, “Well, I was thinking… When your… You know, _heat_ hits, one of us could stay behind with you while you, you know, deal with it. The others can go ahead, and we could catch up to them using one of the bikes. We’ll need extra gas for that.”

Dean’s cheeks feel like they’re on fire. Well, one thing he wasn’t expecting today was to have to the “heat talk” with one his alpha friends. In some ways, it’s nice that Victor is planning ahead for that, since it _is_ an issue. Nice, but also _really embarrassing..._ And it brings up an uncomfortable reminder for Dean, too. 

What _is_ he going to do about his heat while on this trip? 

Originally he had planned to just work his way through it, and hopefully _not_ jump Cas’s bones in the meantime. Except that was before he decided he _liked_ Cas and did want to jump his bones, which was also before Cas hinted at the whole _taking it slow_ thing, which precluded any jumping. And Dean’s okay with that, he is (he’s still dealing with the idea of being in a _relationship_ ), but his heat isn’t going to be so patient. 

Dean’s fingers twitch. Maybe it isn’t such a bad idea to hole up somewhere for a week, and have Victor or Benny keep an eye on him…

Still, that really isn’t practical. Dean winces. “I don’t know if we can afford to bring anything of equal value to gas. Not without making us a target anymore then we’ll already will be, y’know? I can… I can work through it.”

Victor makes a ‘I didn’t think of that’ face, while Benny shifts in his seat. “And what would we do with Novak?” he asks, and Dean glances over at him.

Benny’s giving him a look. One that makes Dean want to squirm in his seat, because there’s a question within a question in Benny’s hard stare. And it’s a question he really He’s barely able to answer the question inside his own head; no way he can say it to his _friend_. 

_Do you want to let us let Cas jump you?_

Dean instinctively wants to save face; scoff and snort and tell Benny to just do what he usually does. Except… Dean doesn’t _want_ Castiel threatened or beaten, because that’s going to happen if he says that. But he can’t say _that_ outloud, because that’s just going to make Victor suspicious, and just confirm what Benny’s really secretly asking about and—

— and shit, fuck, he’s gotta come up with some sort of lie or deflection, because Benny is still eyeballing him and now Victor is looking at him and is saying—

“You know, I don’t think Novak would try anything?”

Both Dean and Benny look at Victor. He mistakes the reason for their surprised and confused looks as he quickly adds, “I mean, we probably shouldn’t _test_ that theory. Just that… He’s just so fucking _calm_. I don’t know how he is either, when he barely seems to get any sleep—”

Dean — who had been in the middle of panicking when Victor had said _I don’t think he’ll try anything —_ freezes at that. He forgets about the thought that Cas wouldn’t do anything because he isn’t interested in him (and that Dean is just fooling himself with the whole _relationship_ thing), and asks, “Cas doesn’t get any sleep?”

“He gets nightmares,” Benny says solemnly, Dean briefly glancing at him before turning to a nodding Victor.

“I think it’s a soldier thing. My dad used to get nightmares too,” he says, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. Dean cringes at that, remembering the stories he’s heard about the New California military—New California still a fledgling government back then—going against an army known as the Legion. It had been nothing short of a massacre, from what Dean’s heard; the people who came back from were never the same either. Soldier sickness, they called it.

Is Cas suffering from that too? Dean wonders. His heart clenches with the thought.

“I feel bad for him. You can tell whatever he went through, it was _bad_ ,” Victor goes on, and Dean winces. Oh no, _Cas_. “He starts tossing and turning; calling out names: Anna, Rachel, Hester; whole bunch others. Then he’s shooting awake, and the poor guy can’t go back to sleep. Ends up leaving the barracks and who knows what he does after that.”

Dean’s heart clenches again. He wants to go to Cas right now, and just... _touch_ him. Hold him. _Something_. God, has Cas been suffering this _entire time_? Dean could have helped — could have gotten him those herbs that helps people sleep — if he had _known—_

“How come this is the first time I’m hearing about this?” he asks, looking between Benny and Victor. Victor winces, and a guilty look crosses Benny’s face.

“We don’t think it’s compromising him; his work hasn’t been affected,” he says, and Victor nods at that.

“And honestly, he _might_ be getting more sleep than we think,” he adds, and then chuckles with a grin. “For all we know, he might be getting some sleep with the help of one of his many admirers, if you know what I mean...”

Benny rolls his eyes at that, but when his gaze settles on Dean, his brow furrows. Probably because Dean has gone completely stiff as Victor’s words go through his head. 

“His _what?_ ” he asks.

* * *

Dean’s not nervous.

Well, he’s _slightly_ nervous. But that’s because they’re heading toward the mess hall, where most of _Winchester & Singer’s _men eat and hang out outside of the Roadhouse bar. In other words, too many alphas in one area for Dean to comfortably deal with, so he rarely visits. Which explains how Dean’s missed out on Castiel’s amassing a drove of admirers, in that he’s been participating in alpha fight clubs. 

“It’s _not_ fight club,” Victor says with a roll of his eyes as they head over to the mess halls. Dean throws him a look when he says that; come on, like that _isn’t_ a good name for the phenomenon that is alphas beating each other up for fun. Victor rolls his eyes again. “Okay, it didn’t start that way. First, the guys wanted to see some of Novak’s signature Blue Angel moves, and it kind of went from there.”

“It’s _educational_ fight club,” Benny quips with a smirk, and Victor snorts through his nose. Dean tries to laugh at the joke, but doesn’t quite make it; it ends up coming out as a weak huff. It’s enough to make Benny give him a look, and to make Dean quickly look away. 

Not nervous. 

(God, though, when’s the last time he’s seen Cas? A few days ago? They were going to meet for dinner, but then Jenkins ended up passing out in the infirmary and Dean had to go tear Kevin a new one. And after that, he had gotten busy and—)

“Anyway, everyone keep going on about how _good_ he smells,” Victor goes on as they pass the barracks and turn the corner toward the mess hall. Dean starts to hear the roar of the crowd: cheers, jeers, astonished yells and the ‘ooohs’ of surprise. All the sounds of a good time, which means it’s probably Dean’s imagination that there seems to be a mocking tone to it all. It makes it difficult to really listen as Victor adds, “Which is kind of odd, since that’s not what most say about alphas, you know? Smell is more our thing. Anyway, whatever it is, Novak’s making quite an impression.”

 _I guess he is,_ Dean thinks hollowly. And it’s not just omegas, if Victor and Benny are seeing it right. It’s _betas_ too, who so rarely respond to anything sexually, especially alphas. And speaking of alphas, though Dean almost can’t believe this, a few of them have expressed interest in Cas. That usually only happens when there isn’t anyone else around for an alpha to stick their knot into, but apparently Cas is an exception to the rule. 

Either way, the impression Cas is leaving on people means he’s getting plenty of offers to end the night with another hot and sweaty exercise. And it isn’t reassuring that Victor and Benny both seem to think he’s taking up those offers. 

_Not_ nervous.

They turn the next corner, and that’s when the mess hall comes into view. Dean starts to slow as he gets a look at the crowd gathered inside. It’s massive, and then he’s hit with the _smell_. Excitement. Alpha adrenaline. The faint traces of slick. The sweet smell of an upcoming heat. All from alphas, betas, female omegas; pheromones all churning together in a scent tornado and wafting out from the mess hall like a gas leak. 

It makes Dean recoil like he stepped in dog shit, putting him on edge too. God, this is why he hates alpha fights: bad enough it’s a bunch of alphas in one room, smelling like sweat (and therefore sex), but they attract the female omegas too. They’re always on the lookout for the alphas they’ll want to share their heats with; with them there, along with the betas, it smells like a fucking _orgy_ … 

And great, that _really_ isn’t the mental image he needs right now: Castiel in an orgy.

Dean’s stomach, already churning, churns some more, and he swallows the lump in his throat. God what was he thinking? He doesn’t do crowds, and he’s not exactly keen going into a place where all those pheromones are directed toward one person. In hindsight, he probably shouldn’t have agreed to come in the first place; should have just told Victor ‘no’ when he insisted he _had_ to, _you have to see Novak fight, Dean, it’s amazing_. Alpha fights are _boring_ : Two sweaty men pummelling each other bloody to satisfy some instinctive urge? No thanks.

(Not to mention, Dean _really_ doesn’t need to watch Castiel flirt or be flirted with; doesn’t really need to see Castiel choose someone or someones, and disappear with them into the night. Because why wouldn’t he? He’s an alpha, and alphas just _love_ to fuck…) 

(God, he’s so fucking nervous.)

Despite everything — the crowds, the smell, his stomach making him think that dinner is going to make a reappearance — his feet carry his right to the door of the mess hall. Victor goes on inside while Benny and Dean stop at the door, where the alpha strips off his jacket. It’s part of their usual routine when they have when going into crowded spaces: Dean wears Benny’s jacket so it can mask his omega scent. As he takes it, Benny’s blue eyes meets Dean’s, and Dean tenses. 

Benny looks worried, confused and unsure, and he silently asks, _You okay?_

 _Shit,_ Dean thinks. He must look bad if Benny’s asking that. And how embarrassing that he is, because even if Dean told him _I think Cas is more of an alpha than I thought,_ his friend wouldn’t _understand_. Because of course Cas would sleep with others — that’s what alphas _do;_ Benny wouldn’t expect anything else. It’s Dean who thought otherwise, who thought maybe Cas was different — that he wanted _more…_

But even as he thinks that, part of him can’t help but say to himself _Cas isn’t like that_. He’s not a knothead; he’s kind and considerate and isn’t like any alpha Dean has ever met. And he wants _more_ than just a fuck, he said so himself… 

Or that’s what Dean assumed, based on a kinda-sorta vague awkward conversation they had. Which could have also been a polite rejection, given it happened right after they had almost kissed.

So maybe he _is_ kind and considerate... and looking for anyone to fuck _besides_ Dean.

Which is not the thought Dean needs, not right now. And it’s a thought that reminds him that he should probably _leave_. Quit while he’s ahead and all that; just settle for the not-knowing and burying any pesky feelings down in the good-ole memory hole and a lot of beer. This whole thing with Cas — he can just pretend it never happened and get on with his life.

Except… what if he’s wrong? 

And it’s that thought that makes Dean tug on Benny’s jacket, take a deep breath and then head into the fog of lust and heat.

He only makes it a few steps before he’s pausing in the sheer sight of the crowd. It’s big. Bigger than Dean realized. Even for an alpha-on-alpha fight, which are sometimes the only form of entertainment around so a lot of people come to them, this crowd is larger than Dean’s seen in a long while. The mess hall looks like those arenas he’s seen photos and ruins of: there’s a crowd circling the center; people are standing on everything from benches, tables, boxes and counters to get better views. Up on the second floor by the railings like they’re in box office seats, Dean spots a couple female omegas and their bodyguards, watching the show as well. There are a few bloody and bruised alphas in the corner, proudly showing off their injuries to each other even as they steal glances back up at the ring.

And in the center of it all is Castiel. Years ago, a group of alphas had built a makeshift ‘box-ring’ after something they had seen in a ruin, and he’s right in the middle of it. Dean sucks in a breath when he looks up and sees Cas in all his glory: hair swept back with sweat; tattoos and muscles gleaming under the flourescent lights; shorts and a sleeveless shirt revealing miles of skin. Which, Jesus, no wonder he’s got everyone lusting after him, when he’s lookin’ like that. Even Dean feels his body stirring with heat when he looks up at Castiel.

Castiel is so distracting, it takes Dean a moment to realize that for a man in the middle of an alpha fight… He’s surprisingly blood-free. Which is really, really _odd_ , since alpha fights usually involve a lot of blood, bruises and sometimes even broken bones — and it’s a point of pride for alphas to accumulate those. But, except for the sweat however, Castiel is perfectly clean, like he’s went for another run instead fighting, when he should have at least _some_ bruises. That fact that he doesn’t makes Dean frown in confusion, and therefore not notice the other oddity in the ring until Victor yells it right into his ear.

“Hot damn, he’s fighting _three_ now?”

 _Three?_ Dean thinks briefly, before he _finally_ notices the fact that there are _three other alphas_ in there with Castiel. Dean stiffens in surprise, his heart leaping. _What the—_

No, it’s not a trick of the light, or his imagination: They are all there, one in each corner. Their fists are raised in the air and teeth are bared, and they’re swaying on their feet in anticipation of a fight. But they’re not going to fight each, that’s immediately clear; their hard stares are centered on Castiel and Castiel alone. That means one thing and one thing only: Castiel is their target, and the moment Dean’s realizes that, he whips around to Benny, confused and more than a little horrified.

“What the hell?” he half-snaps, half-cries, because, again, _what the hell_ , why is Casgoing to fight _three alphas?!_ Aren’t these fights supposed to be educational?!“Benny, what is this?! _”_

Benny looks at him, but there’s no worry on his face. “Relax,” he yells with a grin. “They only have to land one hit!”

 _What?_ Dean thinks, before he says it out loud, “ _What?_ ” What was that supposed to mean…?

There’s no time for Benny to explain.A cheer rises up from the crowd, signaling the start of the fight and Dean whips back around in horror. Like a bell has gone off, the first alpha charges in like an oxen, fists aimed straight for Castiel. Dean flinches, not wanting to watch, yet unable to look away—

And maybe it’s a good thing he doesn’t, because Dean would have missed the exact moment when Castiel dodged the first punch. And that alone is a huge surprise — alphas usually take any and all punches — but what’s even more surprisingly is when he grabs the arm of alpha number one, and pulls him forward enough enough to kick him right in the chest. It’s a brutal and unexpected blow — the look of shock and pain on the Alpha One’s face as he starts to fall says it all. And he doesn’t even hit the ground before Castiel is already turning toward his next attacker, ducking his swinging fist too. 

Dean’s jaw had pretty much dropped the second Cas had taken down Alpha One; he can’t tear his eyes away as he watches Castiel weave through three punches from alpha number two like it’s nothing. Then it’s his turn to strike back, which he does by snapping his hand out palm first, hitting the alpha squarely in the chest. The resounding _smack!_ of fist hitting flesh is loud enough to be heard over the crowd, and it sends Alpha Two stumbling back, eyes bugging out and face growing red. 

That’s not the worst of it for him though. Castiel spins to meet alpha three and the punch headed right for him, catching it before it connects and then pulling hard again. He ends up _throwing_ Three behind him, who flies into Alpha Two like a bowling ball meeting bowling pin. Both hit Alpha One, already on the ground, when they tumble over; Two ends up falling out of the ring, while One and Three roll on the ground, clearly in pain. 

The crowd roars again, and if Dean’s mouth could drop any further, it would. He still doesn’t exactly what’s going on, though he’s starting to understand what Benny meant when he said, _They only have to land one hit!_ They’re definitely not, even in during round two, when Alpha One and Three scramble back to their feet and go after Castiel again. Three goes in foot-first with a kick… Not that it helps him much, as Castiel just catches that with his hands too, which nearly makes Three fall over. It does leave him bouncing on one foot to try to keep his balance, made all the more difficult when Alpha One decides to take a swing at Cas. 

Cas holds onto Three’s foot while he ducks each First swing misses, then the next, before Cas suddenly let’s go of Three’s foot — who quickly has to catch his balance — and darts back away from them both. There, he launches his final attack: As One and Three stumble toward him, fists raising again, Cas tenses, before he starts to twists around. As he comes out of the spin, his leg swings out, and his foot heads right for the side of Three’s skull. 

It’s in that moment that time itself seems to slows, all so Dean can watch Cas’s foot hit the side of Alpha Three’s head with enough force that it sends him right into _One’s_ head. They both topple over, one on top of the other, like falling trees in a forest. Dean swears he can see the sweat and blood fly off them, the way the muscles in their face jiggle from side to side, maybe even a tooth bouncing off the mat.

And then, from near the corner of the ring, a bell goes off. It’s a signal that the fight is over, and the crowd? 

It goes ballistic. 

Dean is nearly swallowed by the crowd as they surge forward to get closer to the ring, a chant of _No-Vak, No-Vak, No-Vak_ going up. That’s probably every alpha’s favorite part of a fight — where they can revel in the roar of their fans and gloat in their win — but all Cas does is wave at the crowd with a quick smile. That’s before he goes over to his fallen opponents, both still on the ground, saying something to them before holding out his hands to help them up. Something like that might be perceived as an insult so close to the end of a fight, but the other alphas accept the lift up, grinning as Cas easily pulls them to their feet. And perhaps most surprising out of everything, that strange alpha fight included, they immediately start talking with Castiel. Even over the crowd, Dean can hear Alpha Three say, “How did you do that?!”

Dean’s mouth falls open again, because _what the hell_. Alpha fights are many things, but Dean’s never seen a fight like what he just witnessed … And is still witnessing, where the defeated opponents aren’t slinking off to lick their wounds and recover their pride. It’s not just the fact that the Cas fought three opponents at once, and that he took all of them down in two moves or less. It’s not even the fact that his opponents only had to hit him once, and couldn’t even manage that It’s the fact that Cas chose to fight that way _at all_ , since alpha fights are usually all about showing off how big and strong they are. They’re all about how many blows they can take and deal out; how many bruises they can acclimate; how much blood they can spill. There’s no finesse, no skill; it’s just brutal, bloody, but ultimately, in Dean’s opinion, _boring_. 

Especially because, getting right down to it, it’s primal bullshit stuff, isn’t it? Alphas think winning these kind of fights proves that they’d father strong babies, and that omegas would be more attracted to them. Which for Dean, is _ridiculous_ , because what’s so hot about watching men beating each other senseless? (Not to mention, the _blood_ — the one body fluid that belongs _nowhere_ near the bed.) And he’s never gotten the impression that the female omegas cared about the fights, or were even into the whole “the strongest alpha is the sexiest alpha” thing. Dean’s never been into that.

Well, at least until now. 

It’s a thought that makes Dean’s cheeks flush, because it’s not something he expected to learn about himself today. But apparently, watching an alpha kick other alphas’ asses without suffering a single blow _is_ kind of attractive. Who knew?

Yet, even with that somewhat-embarrassing realization — even though at this point when it comes to Cas, Dean shouldn’t be surprised — he’s still kind of stuck on just how different that fight _was._ So he turns to the only person who can answer his question for, and looks over at Benny and asks, “What kind of fight was _that?”_

Benny shrugs with a smirk. “Educational fight club,” he replies, which Dean lifts his eyebrow at. He has to concede that point though: He did learn a lot in that fight. 

“And one for the records,” Victor chimes in then with a grin and a clap of his hands. “Man, you hear the stories about Blue Angels, but to see what they’re really capable of? Damn. Come on, I gotta ask Novak how he did that chest-punch thing — never seen anything like that…”

Normally, Dean wouldn’t wade too much further into a crowd than he already has, but he wants to know more too. (Especially on how to easily take down an alpha — usually he has to get in a dozen blows to the face before an alpha will go down.) He follows after Victor, letting him part the way through the crowd, which has mostly settled down by now that the fight is over. People have broken into groups to chatter with each other and Dean hears a “Did you _see_ that?” more than once as they maneuver through. 

At the ring, a large group has gathered around Castiel, who left it when Dean wasn’t looking. As they draw closer, Dean sees Cas perched on the edge of the ring, a towel draped over his shoulders and skin still flushed from the fight. His eyes are bright as he chats with the crowd, who seem to be asking him questions. It’s the only thing that explains what Cas is talking about once Dean gets into hearing range.

“Now there’s an additional force that has to be applied to overcome the mass of my foot, which is what’s called torque,” he’s saying, which makes Dean frown. _Torque?_ he wonders. “Now if you combine torque with the angle of my velocity... that is, how fast I was moving when my foot hit, that equals power. And that power of a roundhouse kick can generate about 480 pounds of force.”

Dean frowns further, still unsure about what Cas is talking about, while the crowd makes thoughtful noises between them. Then, a young alpha chimes in, “So this… _Physics_ is what makes you strong?”

That’s a very familiar word, though at the moment Dean can’t place it. The question makes Castiel chuckle though, the corner of his eyes crinkling as he does. “Not exactly,” he says. “It’s more of an explanation of why that move is so powerful. It’s the science of it. That’s what physics is: a science.”

“Oooh,” the group says in unison, and Dean almost joins them, because right, right, he _knows_ that. Or at least, he remembers that from the books he read on electromagnetism — which is a branch of physics, isn't it? He didn’t know that it could be used to determine the power of a punch or kick however, and Dean immediately has a dozen questions: how exactly that works, how else it can be applied, if Cas has any books on the subject. He doesn’t recall seeing any in Cas’s collection, but he _has_ also been really busy the last few days...

Of course, being part of a group means the moment Dean wants to ask something, someone else beats him to it. “Would knowing physics make us as strong as alphas?” one of the betas asks, and it makes every alpha look over, alarmed.

Cas, to his credit, simply looks amused. “Not exactly,” he replies with another chuckle. “But with the right training, you can learn ways to compensate for an alpha’s overall strength.”

The beta looks absolutely gleeful at that, exchanging grins with her friends. Clearly unnerved, one of the alphas _of course_ has to throw out, “But we’re still stronger, right?” which makes Dean roll his eyes.

“Physically, yes, but that doesn’t mean alphas don’t have their weaknesses,” Cas starts to say, but he’s interrupted by the beta again.

“Can you teach us physics?”

At that question, the expression that crosses Cas’s face can only be described as a mixture of surprise and delight. “Yes,” he says, as if that thought had never occurred to him before. “Yes, I’d like that.”

The excitement that goes through the betas is palpable, though the alphas don’t quite share their glee. As for Cas, he starts to smile, eyes growing thoughtful like he’s imagining himself as a teacher. His arm shifts a little too, which draw Dean’s attention down to the side of hand braced against the matt of the ring. There, he sees the chain of Cas’s necklace wrapped around his wrist and palm, and he has one of the pendants between his thumb and finger. Though he’s running his thumb along it, that doesn’t prevent Dean from getting a good look at the pendants for once and he frowns curiously.

They’re thin and silver, like he originally thought, but they also have a glass face with a blue stone set in the middle. It almost looks like the stone is glowing, but it could be a trick of the light for all Dean knows, and it’s not the most interesting part turns out. There’s something written on the bottom half of the pendant, Dean squinting to make it out. 

Does it say _Balthazar_? 

He doesn’t have much time to ponder if that’s a name or not, as one of the other alphas in the group happens to glance over and then spots Dean. Well, technically, he probably spots his bosses, Benny and Victor, who are right beside Dean — either way, the alpha alerts the others when he stands to attention and then bleats out, “Sirs?! Do you need us to report in, sirs?!”

It’s a reaction that isn’t surprisingly, considering most of the alphas in the group work for Victor and Benny. What is surprising is Cas’s reaction: When he looks over too, his eyes almost instantly land on Dean’s. A flicker of surprise crosses his face before he shoots up from his seat, croaking loudly, “ _Dean_.”

Dean’s heartbeat speeds up under the full weight of Cas’s stare, which, really, he should be used to at this point. However, this seems extra intense this time around, Cas looking at him like he’s a thirsty man out in the wastes and Dean is a canteen of filtered water. It makes Dean’s body respond in kind, which is not the reaction he wants in the middle of a crowd, but _fuck._ How _else_ he supposed to react when Cas is looking at him like that…?

Except that doesn’t last long, as Cas’s visibly stiffens, before he glances away. He doesn’t look toward anyone or anything, just _away_ from him, and Dean’s heartbeat comes to a slow stop. Because he’s seen that look on Cas before: the downcast eyes, the tension in his shoulders, the bob of his throat as he swallows. The last time he saw it was right after they had almost kissed, and then Cas had pulled away from him, hinted that he wanted _more_... 

… Or that he wasn’t interested. 

“Stand down, stand down, we were just here to watch the fight,” Dean hears Victor say, though it sounds like he’s a thousand miles away. And to add insult to injury, Castiel looks up at Victor when he comes into view with a massive grin on his face. “Novak!” he greets. “Hell of a fight, brother: hell, of, a, fight. Three alphas who only had to land one hit to win? _Genius_. Who came up with that?”

Cas’s mouth twitches toward a smile, but the tension doesn’t leave his body, and his eyes don’t stray from Victor’s. “Ash. He put the fight together. There were requests for a demonstration on how to defend yourself when you are outnumbered.”

Benny and Victor both laugh at that; laugh and laugh like Dean isn’t right there, trying valiantly to keep himself together and come up with rational explanation for why Cas still isn’t looking at him. Except nothing comes to mind but the obvious: That Dean hadn’t recognized a rejection when it had happened.

Except, that doesn’t explain how Cas had _looked_ at him: Like Dean was _extraordinary_ …

And Dean’s back to where he started, so goddamn confused about what the hell is happening. Because the moment he thinks about Cas giving a clear sign he’s interested, Dean just has to look at how tense he is still and be confused again. And what about everything else? The reason Dean came here: Because Victor and Benny hinted that he had been sleeping around. 

While Dean tries to sort it all out, the others continue to chat, oblivious. “Ash set up the fight? Man, I hope you got your cut then,” Victor says, which makes Cas frown at him.

“My cut?” he asks.

“Of the bets Ash placed on your fight,” Benny explain, and Cas frowns further.

“Oh,” he says, and then his expression grows thoughtful. “Well, that isn’t why I am doing this. I enjoy giving demonstrations. I enjoy _teaching_. I… I never realized that before.”

Dean glances back over at Cas at that, seeing the smile on his face from earlier, after that beta asked him to teach them about physics. The sight of that smile makes something _dark_ go through Dean, that compels him to chime in with, “It’s not all you enjoy, is it?”

 _That_ , of all things, makes Cas look at him. (Benny too, possibly because he hears the sarcasm in Dean’s voice that usually means someone is going to get hit.) “What?” Castiel asks, clearly confused.

“Oh yeah, the perks of being the winning alpha,” Victor says with a grin and a slap to his shoulder, which makes Cas look back at him. “A whole group of admirers happy to warm the knot.”

Dean frowns when Castiel visibly stiffens again. “ _What_?” he repeats again, before it seems to hit him what Victor said, and the color drains from his face. The look of alarm seems to surprise Benny and Victor both, but it’s to Dean Cas’s eyes shoot to. The fear that’s inside Cas’s blue eyes makes Dean hesitate, his heart starting to pound again.

“I’m not—” Cas blurts out. “I’m _not_ —” 

He never finishes his sentence, as a flurry of blond hair and beer-soaked flannel suddenly bursts through the crowd, practically yelling Cas’s name. It startles them all, Dean jumping a little as Ash nearly collides into him as he stumbles toward Cas. “Novak, _Novak_ — oh sorry, Dean,” Ash babbles, grinning like an idiot as he grabs onto Cas’s shirt. “Novak! I got another fight for you.”

Cas blinks, once. Twice. “A fight?” he says in a way that makes Dean think he’s repeating it mindlessly. And Dean can hardly blame him, because he himself is trying to catch up still. Cas had just been about to say that he wasn’t sleeping around, wasn’t he?

“Yes, yes, a fight you cannot miss, man. A fight for the _ages_. The _century_. The millennia!”

As both Dean and Cas frown at that, someone from the crowd pipes in, “With who?”

Ash’s grin is damn near mad, and it’s no surprise why when he says their name.

 _“Meg_.”

 _Oh shit_ , Dean thinks. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **9/22/2017:** This story is not abandoned! I'm just an American who has Donald Trump as a president, and my mind can't handle it sometimes. I'm trying not to let the man dictate my life, but damn is it hard sometimes. 
> 
> So updates. They're coming. One of these days. I appreciate all the comments and kudos people are leaving in the meantime. I won't let you down!


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